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Strings to Adventure 


By Eric\ Berry 


GIRLS IN AFRICA 
BLACK FOLK TALES 
PENNY WHISTLE 

HUMBO THE HIPPO AND LITTLE BOY BUMBO 
MOM DU JOS 

ILLUSTRATIONS OF CYNTHIA 
CAREERS OF CYNTHIA 
JUMA OF THE HILLS 
THE WINGED GIRL OF KNOSSOS 
SOJO 

THE HOUSE THAT JILL BUILT (ANNE MAXON 
STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 





Then followed the sailors with a hornpipe. 



















































































































































































































































































































































































Strings to Adventure 



Erick Berry 

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY THE AUTHOR 



' ) ' 

I I > ) ! | > 

| ) > | 

I I 

Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company 

BOSTON 1935 NEW YORK 



















Copyright, 1935, by 
ALLENA CHAMPLIN BEST 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wibhes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 

Published October, 1935. 



PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©Cl ft 



88088 


«5 C Qi A V 





For Rapunzel and her Prince, for the Bear and the 
Clown, for Mabel and Cedric Head and the Kingsland 
Marionettes who were the joy and the inspiration of 
Kitt and Sunny and their adventures. 




CONTENTS 


Chapter One 

THE LETTER 

PAGE 

13 

Chapter Two 

REHEARSAL 

19 

Chapter Three 

THE STRINGS UNWIND 

29 

Chapter Tour 

MYSTERY 

38 

Chapter Five 

MYSTERY SOLVED 

47 

Chapter Six 

BARNACLE BILL 

54 

Chapter Seven 

PLANS PROGRESS 

61 

Chapter Fight 

A HAT IN THE WIND 

69 

Chapter Nine 

PROFESSIONALS 

77 

Chapter Ten 

AT CEDARBROOK 

88 

Chapter Eleven 

MORE STRINGS 

100 

Chapter Twelve 

A LOST LETTER 

106 

Chapter Thirteen 

LOW JINKS ACTS 

118 

Chapter Fourteen 

IMPROMPTU 

I2 5 

Chapter Fifteen 

HELP FROM A STAR 

138 

Chapter Sixteen 

THE FAIR 

155 


IX 


CONTENTS 


Chapter Seventeen 

PUNCH AND JUDY 

PAGE 

168 

Chapter Eighteen 

STRANDED 

178 

Chapter Nineteen 

RECOVERY 

185 

Chapter Twenty 

MISSING MARIONETTES 

i 95 

Chapter Twenty-One 

GOOD NEWS 

203 

Chapter Twenty-Two 

SUCCESS 

212 


X 












Strings to Adventure 



















Chapter One 


THE LETTER 


T^"itt was resisting temptation. Certainly, above 
-tV the address was written “Miss Katherine New¬ 
comb, but below that was also “Miss Catharine Fair- 
weather’—and that was Sunny’s name and this was 
Sunny s house. The envelope, large and imposing and 
vaguely exciting, lay plainly on the Fairweather hall 
table; and Sunny wasn’t home yet, might not be for 
another whole hour. 

Kitt shifted the large bundle beneath her arm and 
put out one cold finger to touch the envelope. Con¬ 
science, combining with Etiquette and Good Manners, 
popped up its hydra head and hissed warningly: “You 
go in and sit down, Katherine my girl. And don't 
touch that again till Sunny comes!" 

“Oh, all right, all right!” Kitt murmured sooth¬ 
ingly to the trio and scurried into the deserted living 
room, away from temptation. There a pleasant wood 

*3 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

fire blazed. Freed from her raincoat, cozily shut from 
the rain that tapped wet fingers on the panes, she 
could spread herself and her sewing. And think about 
that letter. Wouldn’t it be nice if it were Something 
Unexpected. Something Exciting. Even Something 
Slightly Remunerative. 

A little hopeful song inside her began to hum against 
the dark and dreary day. 

Sunny, as usual, entered with a bounce. “Hi, Kitt! 
Nobody home? Rotten day, isn’t it?” With one 
sweep of a long arm, she tossed her drenched hat on 
the table and swung out of her raincoat. Picking up 
Betsy Ross, whose wide skirts and white cap were 
selfishly occupying the softest corner of the couch, 
she sank with a sigh into that historic lady’s place. 
Deliberately Kitt stuck a pin into the epaulet of 
G. Washington Esquire on her lap and took another 
from her mouth. “Letter?” she asked innocently, 
glancing up through the curl that drooped over her 
brown eyes. 

Sunny sprawled in comfort, damp oxfords to the 
blaze. The letter was in her hand and as she ripped it 
open she wondered idly: “Who could be writing to 
both of us? I suppose it’s addressed here because 
we’re in the ’phone book, and you’re not.” Then, 
neglecting the half-opened letter, “That’s grand of the 
General, Kitt. I like the white yarn hair. Is it an 
order?” 

“You know very well it isn’t. And I’ve just about 


THE LETTER 

used up the money from those last marionettes for all 
these new samples. Sunny! Don’t torture a gal! If 
you don’t read that letter I’ll expire on the spot!” 

Sunny grinned and slowly pushed the pins back 
into her bright, untidy hair. Her eyes were busily 
scanning the single, businesslike sheet. Suddenly, with 
a g as P? she sat straight up in her corner and reread 
it slowly, incredulously. Her eyes were dancing, her 
color high as she tossed the thing across to Kitt. 

“Read it, honey. It’s more yours than mine.” 

How strange her voice sounded! Maybe it was the 
Something Exciting Kitt wanted so much. Her eyes 
glanced through it. 

“Why—how—how funny! How perfectly absurd!” 
she said in a little, strangled voice. “Why they must 
think we’re regular professionals.” And she read it 
again, murmuring aloud over the important parts. . . . 
“ ‘And hope, since this is an emergency, that you will 
be so kind as to help us out. Miss Jaques, of the 
Liskeard High School has strongly recommended you. 
Hope you will be willing to do this for fifteen dollars 
—the price agreed on with the other company.’ ” Miss 
Jaques was their own dramatic arts teacher in Liskeard, 
and the letter was signed by the head of the Parent- 
Teacher Association of the Merida Junior High, fif¬ 
teen miles away. 

“Absurd? Well—why absurd?” Sunny’s long, gilt- 
edged lashes were demurely lowered and her fingers 
busy with the wool tassel on the front of her green 


7 5 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

jersey, but Kitt wasn’t deceived by that soft, pussy- 
purr voice. Sunny always went purry when she was 
hatching some scandalous scheme. 

“Of course it’s absurd. We couldn’t give a whole 
performance. All we’ve done have been little short 
acts, just to amuse the kids and the family.” 

“But we’ve got the marionettes,” Sunny pointed out. 
“And we know how to handle ’em.” 

“I . . .” Kitt felt a panic rising, in the face of 
Sunny’s mysterious, stubborn determination. “I can’t 
memorize ten lines. And well you know it.” And was 
immediately startled at the mischief, the dancing ex¬ 
citement, in Sunny’s blue gaze. 

“But I can,” she interrupted. And of course she 
could. Sunny had been favorite story-hour lady at the 
Hospital for Crippled Children every Friday afternoon 
for nearly two years. 

“And we haven’t any real acts,” Kitt frantically 
gathered further protests. 

“We’ll get ’em. Or write ’em.” 

“And it’s . . . ,” Kitt looked again at the letter, 
“. . . only three days off. My heavens, Sunny!” 

“Oh, be still!” Good naturedly Sunny, with Betsy 
beneath her arm, stood over Kitt. “Listen to me, 
Calamity Jane, Yll write the show, Yll learn the lines. 
I’ll write it around just those marionettes we have on 
hand. And to-morrow night it’ll be ready to rehearse, 
and again on Friday. And on Saturday morning. By 
then we’ll be ready for the afternoon performance. 


16 


THE LETTER 


But naturally,” she sank down, long legs beneath her, 
at Kitt’s feet and patted the other’s knee, “you’ll have 
to do most of the handling and actual show. They’re 
your marionettes. . . . Please, Kitten!” 

“But—but! Lights—stage—curtains—trunks to pack 
’em in!” Breathlessly Kitt summoned further ex¬ 
cuses. But Sunny hugged her happily. 

“That’s a darling. I knew you’d do it!” 

Kitt’s defenses crumbled. “It’s mad, it’s perfectly 
mad!” But the dimple near her mouth had begun 
to twinkle and Sunny, knowing the sign, took advan¬ 
tage. 

“We’ll get hold of Bill right away. What’s his num¬ 
ber?” 

That was Kitt’s big brother, Bill. He was a very 
junior partner in a very small electrical shop down¬ 
town and he could make light bulbs do everything but 
grow roots and flowers. If he could help with the 
stage, too . . . 

“And so,” continued Sunny ten minutes later as she 
hung up the ’phone, “that’s all arranged. Bill’s a 
dear. Wish he were my indulgent brother.” Sunny 
was the delightfully pampered only child in the Fair- 
weather family, accustomed to getting her way on all 
occasions. Or so Kitt told her. 

“And you’ve let us in for the most terrific pile of 
work. I don’t know what we’ll pull out of this,” she 
said, her brows wrinkling. 

“We’ll pull ourselves and a grand marionette show 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

out of it, you’ll see.” Sunny, sparkling, laughing, now 
that she had won on all points, whirled Kitt about in 
a fantastic dance from one end of the long room to 
the other, clapped her hat on her head, draped the 
raincoat about her shoulders, bundled the sewing bag 
and marionettes into Kitt’s arms. “You re to scoot 
home at once, get the puppets into perfect order. 
And whatever you do, don’t get kept for after-school 
study hall to-morrow. And don’t worry. We’ll need 
every minute and all your brains for the rehearsals.” 

Kitt, laughing too, found herself on the doorstep 
with G. Washington beneath one arm, Betsy Ross and 
the sewing bag beneath the other. The rain had 
cleared, the stars, like freshly washed good omens, 
twinkled against the darkening sky. Her own house, 
just across the street, was newly thrilling, packed with 
this coming adventure. In a very dither of excitement, 
Kitt scuttled toward home. 


Chapter Two 


REHEARSAL 


K itt followed big brother Bill’s wide shoulders as 
he swung the two sample cases through the Fair- 
weather front door. Every light in the living room 
was blazing. What if there were company to-night, 
of all nights! 

But there was only Sunny, beaming a welcome,' all 
the little freckles across her nose seeming about to 
break into a dance. 

“Oh, Bill, how nice of you! I got my family to 
give us the whole floor to-night; Dad and Mother have 
gone off to a talkie. Kitt, dear, must you look so 
worried? Don’t tell me the marionettes are all down 
with the flu? Sorry I couldn’t stop and talk with you 
in school to-day, my head was simply buzzing with 
new ideas and I was afraid to upset them with other 
matters.” 

So that was why Sunny, an exalted senior, had 


19 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

passed by this noon in the high school corridor with 
only an airy wave of her hand, leaving Kitt a little 
hurt. But, of course, Sunny had had to work out her 
plan alone, even though the puppets were mostly 
Kitt’s. After all—and the idea made her blink a little 
—perhaps Sunny was only taking this on just for 
her, that she might get a real business started with 
her marionettes. 

Sunny was already explaining her ideas to Bill. 
“I thought we could use the double doorway between 
the living and dining rooms, set up a sort of platform 
there to act as ‘bridge.’ ” 

They would need a low perch on which to stand 
and walk back and forth behind the raised puppet 
stage; the “bridge,” as it is called, on which the pup¬ 
peteer can work in comfort. Without it you have to 
stretch the wooden controls high above your head 
in order to bring the doll actors on eye level with 
the audience. And you couldn’t do that for an hour 
or more. Returning from another quick trip across 
the street with another parcel of puppets and a third 
sample case, Bill removed his coat, rolled up his 
sleeves and set to work. Kit had been busy releasing 
the puppets from their individual cheesecloth bags. 

“Come here, Kitt,” Bill spoke from behind the 
drawn curtains of the doorway. “Stand on this case; 
see if it’s strong enough to hold you. I want to use 
the cases to pack the puppets, and make them do 
double duty, if I can.” 


20 


REHEARSAL 


Kitt, puzzled, jumped about obediently. 

“Now you, Sunny. You’re heavier.” 

Beginning to get the idea, Kitt stood down while 
Sunny mounted the step. Bill nodded. “Yes, it’s good 
and strong. The cases were some left in the back 
of the shop, for a bad debt. Now a board across, and 
another here,”—he placed a third case beside the 
others—“and we’ll have your bridge.” 

He was referring, with a glance from time to time, 
to a large, yellow bound book, open on the floor. 
Kitt bent over it. 

“I slipped into the library at noon and got that.” 
Bill was fitting together some mysterious metal rods. 
“The diagram of the stage is just about what you 
want. Only I had some ideas of my own to improve 
it.” 

“Needn’t have gone to the library,” murmured 
Kitt. “We’ve got that book in the house.” For Kitt 
had a whole long shelf of puppet lore, accumulated 
since she was twelve, when she made her first clumsy 
marionette. Her perusal of the diagram was rudely 
interrupted. Bill’s hand was on her shoulder. 

“No loitering backstage. Authors and actors out 
front. Stage carpenters behind the curtain. March!” 
He shoved her toward the couch and the fireplace. 
The curtains swirled together before her face. 

Sunny, curled on the couch, ran ink stained fingers 
through wildly ruffled, taffy colored hair. “We’ll have 
to make a sort of vaudeville show; there wasn’t time 


21 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

to write a whole new story, nor for you to make fresh 
characters for it,” she began. 

“Honestly,” Kitt broke into protest, “I think this 
is the maddest thing! We can’t possibly . . .” Sunny 
was such a terrifying optimist. No one could produce 
a marionette show in three days, and the more one 
saw the complexities unfold, the more impossible it 
seemed. 

“Hush, woman!” Sunny was good-natured, but firm. 
“They’re counting on us. I ’phoned Mrs. Cutler of 
the P-T Association last night; she’s the head of it 
all, and a friend of mother’s, and we’re to stay over 
as her guests for the night. Really, Kitt, we’ve got a 
grand start for the show, nearly a dozen marionettes, 
and we know how to work ’em. Or at least you 
do.” 

Yes, that was true. Kitt, in building up an in¬ 
teresting, but scarcely paying, job of making mario¬ 
nettes had naturally learned how to handle them in 
order to get the balance and stringing right. She 
could put a puppet through its paces with professional 
flourish. But the rest of this, the stage and the show, 
were simply appalling to contemplate. Reluctantly, 
not really convinced, but swept along by Sunny’s 
boundless enthusiasm, Kitt listened. 

It was, then, to be a revue, tied together with some 
central character. First, as Sunny ticked them off on 
her fingers, there were George and Betsy. She had 
a story for them all written, she tapped the papers in 


22 


REHEARSAL 


her lap. She’d lifted it, word for word out of a fourth 
grade reader, with conversations and all. 

“It’s about the making of the flag, so all we’ll need 
is a plain white muslin back drop, and some colonial 
dolls’ chairs, which I found in the attic among some 
old toys. And, of course, a small stars-and-stripes, for 
props.” 

“Why, that’s absolutely marvelous!” Kitt felt her 
pessimism beginning to weaken. 

A pleased smirk and a comic bow from Miss Fair- 
weather. “And there’s your clown, of course, and 
in vaudeville there’s always an act with two charac¬ 
ters, who come out and sing songs. I thought we 
might rake up an old record I know, about Mister 
Gallagher and Mister Shean, and I’d do some topical 
jingles to fit the tune.” 

Kitt nodded. “The portable victrola behind the 
scenes would be fine for other bits, too.” 

“Splendid! Then how about . . .” Scattering the 
papers from her lap, Sunny slumped down before the 
record cabinet and began to shuffle through a pile of 
black disks. “For our two sailors.” She held it up 
triumphantly. “A hornpipe. Easy for the mario¬ 
nettes, because we needn’t learn much in the way of 
words. Just make ’em dance. Listen!” 

While she put on the record, Kitt unwound the 
strings from the wooden controls of the two sailors; 
one a bearded old salt with a wizened, whiskered face, 
a miniature pipe in his mouth; the other a fresh faced 


23 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

youngster in gob’s cap and sailor pants. From the 
twenty-inch figures led strings of heavy shoemaker s 
twine, black, so as to be invisible to the audience. Two 
for the head, two for knees, one at the seat to make the 
puppet bend, one for each hand; these were attached 
to a nine-inch strip of wood with triple crossbars, the 
control. The bar which controlled the knees was re¬ 
movable, and, when the puppet walked, it was held 
in the puppeteer’s right hand. With this simple de¬ 
vice which Kitt had been using and improving for 
some years, ever since she had made her first crude 
marionette out of an old doll, the small actor could be 
made to kneel, to dance, to laugh, to hold out arms in 
expostulation and appeal. Sunny was not so skillful, 
but she could put the puppets through the more simple 
routines. 

“Teedle-dee, dee-dee-teedle dee dee deel” began the 
hornpipe. 

Kitt leaped to her feet on the sofa and held the con¬ 
trol so that the puppet’s small lead-weighted feet just 
touched the rug. Sunny, up beside her, walked Barnacle 
Bill across from the end of the hearth, as representing 
the edge of the stage, to an assumed center stage. 

“Gi’ us a hornpipe, Sammy,” he commanded with 
a rich Scotch burr, and sat himself down on an im¬ 
aginary hogshead. 

“Now go on with the dance, Kitt,” commanded 
Sunny, coming out of her character. 

That was easy. The hornpipe had been practiced 




REHEARSAL 

many times at home. Kitt put the newly christened 
Sam through his paces while Sunny leaped down to 
rewind the machine, then again to shut it off. Breath¬ 
lessly she returned to the couch. 

“Well, that’s one act we’re sure of. I’ll give you the 
Betsy Ross lines to learn at home. Don’t try to say 
them; I can speak for them both, since presumably 
the lady and gent of those days wouldn’t both be 
talking at once, but we’ll have to work up gestures to 
fit the words. That’s three checked off.” 

“If you and your producer will come and inspect 
the stage,” invited Bill from the farther room. 

Still wondering how Sunny was planning to tie 
all these acts together into an interesting show, Kitt 
swept aside the curtains. There, in front of the bridge, 
in front of the little stage, Bill had set up a small, 
skeleton proscenium. He had taken light, hollow 
metal rods, such as are used to house outdoor electric 
wiring and had connected them with slip-on joints. 
These being, he explained, easier to set up in a hurry 
and less liable than screw joints to jam if they got 
bent. 

“The stage can be any size you wish. This is six 
feet long and about twenty-eight inches high at the 
proscenium opening, and seems about the right pro¬ 
portion for your dollies.” 

Kitt made a face at him. Puppeteers like to think 
of their marionettes as real actors. 

“And it’s a stage you can set up pretty easily, if you 

2 5 


/ 

/ 

/ 

STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

want to give another show, with the aid of almost any 
strong-armed, intelligent male. . . ” 

“Such as yourself,” approved Sunny. “Bill, it’s mar¬ 
velous, it’s perfect! I bet we could set it up ourselves, 
even without your strong-armed hero, but we’ll need 
a bit of practice.” 

Practice, practice, practice. . . . Seems to me we’ll 
need . . .” This was Kitt, of course. 

The Complete Pessimist, in one exhaustive volume,” 
scoffed Sunny. 

Just the same, Kitt considered silently, it was sweet 
of her to take all this trouble, produce all this en¬ 
thusiasm. Sunny, with her huge house, her adoring 
parents, didn t need, as Kitt did, to make the show a 
paying success. That is if, by some miracle, it did 
go over. But if Kitt were ever to get to college, she 
must start saving for it now; so far every penny she 
had put aside had melted back into puppets and more 
puppets, into properties and costumes, more silk for 
their quaint little bodies, more hair for their funny 
little wooden heads. And they couldn’t accept all 
this stage and things from Bill. They’d have to make 
him let them pay for the material. 

For almost an hour the girls watched, criticized, 
suggested, while Bill completed the stage. Raised a 
foot or so off the floor, the marionettes stepped out on 
a platform of light weight compo-board laid over the 
pipe rafters. Back of this was the bridge. Across the 
front of the small stage, Bill planned to run a shal- 


26 


REHEARSAL 


low trough to conceal the electric footlights, so arranged 
that they could be plugged in with a single cord to 
any ordinary light socket. 

“Take a few fuses in your purse,” suggested Bill, 
“in case you blow out the lights in the hall. People 
seldom have spares, and anyway they can’t find them 
in the dark.” 

Then Sunny insisted that they continue with the re¬ 
hearsal. “Though, if we can, we’d better practice on 
Bill’s bridge, so as to get used to it.” 

They were to have Red Riding Hood and the Wolf, 
characters already among Kitt’s marionettes, and 
again with a story lifted from a book in the school 
library. But they would need one more act, maybe 
two. 

“You’ve forgotten our clown,” suggested Kitt, who 
had slumped, weary, but almost hopeful, in one cor¬ 
ner of the couch. 

“Oh, he’s really the center of the show, the an¬ 
nouncer, and we’re calling him—” 

“Joey ?” Kitt strangled a yawn. 

“Joey?” Sunny cocked her taffy head, testing the 
name. “Yes, I like that. Suppose we rehearse with 
him now. I’ll read the lines, to get them in my head, 
and you follow with action which you think’ll fit.” 

For another hour, with occasional applause from 
Bill, they rehearsed; till even Kitt was convinced that 
“it might go over”; till even Sunny, the enthusiastic, 
was white and weary; till even Bill, the energetic, 


27 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

yawned and reminded Kitt that she had school to¬ 
morrow, marionette show or no marionette show. 

“But we still need one more act,” protested Sunny, 
checking over the ideas on her fingers. “What is it?” 

Bill, struggling into his overcoat, remarked, “Looks 
to me as though you’ve got everything but the trained 
seal.” 

“An animal act! You’ve hit it! Can it be done, 
Kitt? All you have to do . . .” 

“All we have to do is about half the show, yet.” 
Kitt was too sleepy to be optimistic. 

“All you have to do is to go home and go to bed.” 
Sunny shoved her toward the door. “We’ll be ready 
in time. Somehow. You’ll see.” 


28 


Chapter Three 


THE STRINGS UNWIND 


A nd somehow, miraculously, incredibly, they were. 

It was half past twelve on Saturday when the 
last case was loaded into the rumble seat, the last odd 
package crammed into the final spare inch in Sunny’s 
little car. Back of them lay a whirlwind two days of 
rehearsal, of dress rehearsal, of lights and curtains, 
of new strings and new props; ahead of them were 
the fifteen miles to the Merida High School and un¬ 
known adventure. 

There was a man at the door to help them unpack 
and set up the stage, and Mrs. Cutler, in pearls and 
a French hat, hustling head of the P.-T. Association 
to enthuse. “So fortunate, we feel ourselves, to have 
procured such excellent entertainers almost at the last 
minute.” 

Sunny and Kitt exchanged dismayed glances. 


29 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Heavens, the woman thought this a professional show! 
Well, they had, somehow, to live up to that. 

“Now what do you call your little company ? asked 
the interested Mrs. Cutler. “We’ll want to announce 
it, of course.” 

Sunny was stammering “Why-e-e” when Kitt 
cut in with, “The Kitt-Cat Marionettes.” Just like 
that, in a firm, matter-of-fact voice. Once, back in 
grammar school, before Kitt had been ill and forced 
to drop behind a year, the two, Katherine and Cath¬ 
arine, had become known as the Kitt-Cats, and now 
the name had flashed to her tongue as a veritable in¬ 
spiration. 

In the packed rush of the next two hours, they made 
a dozen discoveries and suggestions for the future of 
the show—if any, as Kitt put it. Bill’s arrangements 
had been excellent, but the curtains needed larger, 
looser rings for a “quick curtain” and some sort of 
contraption such as small wire hangers at either side 
of the stage to hold the marionettes, each puppet ready- 
to-hand at its entrance. They discovered, too, what 
stage fright meant. 

Kitt’s knees felt like warm jelly. “And listen to 
that mob out there! I suppose that’s what is known as 
a good audience!” 

Crouched on the sample cases, sipping the hot cocoa 
which Mrs. Cutler had sent along, they awaited the 
signal that the audience was ready. 


30 


THE STRINGS UNWIND 

“I’m not scared.” Sunny firmly set down her cup 
because the cocoa slopped so. “Just,” she affirmed, 
“excited and tingly. But heavens, listen to ’em!” 

Small boys catcalling, shouting across the unfilled 
spaces of the auditorium into which poured rapidly a 
larger and ever noisier horde. 

“How soon?” Mrs. Cutler’s French hat appeared 
round the edge of the large curtain. “Right away? 
The children get so restless if they have to wait.” 

“Restless!” muttered Kitt sceptically as she tried 
to steady her quivering knees. On the bridge, Joey’s 
control in hand, she waited for Sunny to snatch open 
the curtains of the little stage. Fortunately, from here 
one wouldn’t be able to see the audience, only the 
back of the masking curtain, but, to judge by the 
slight attention accorded Mrs. Cutler’s speech of 
introduction, the boys were more interested in their 
own loud chatter than in the forthcoming perform¬ 
ance. 

Mrs. Cutler’s voice died, or was drowned. Amid 
an increasing hubbub, the curtain swung back and 
the first performance of the Kitt-Cat Marionettes had 
begun—begun like a waking nightmare. From Kitt’s 
trembling fingers, the strings tangled, became utterly 
unmanageable, Joey’s head dropped back absurdly, 
loose on its tape, his knees writhed meaninglessly be¬ 
tween his arms as he wobbled an inch or two above 
the stage. Sunny’s quavering voice could not have been 
heard beyond the fifth row of the audience. But no 


3 * 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

one seemed to be listening, and second by second the 
disturbance in the back of the hall grew louder, more 
overwhelming. 

Finally the voice of Mrs. Cutler came piercing 
through the uproar beyond the footlights. “Could 
you possibly close the show for a few minutes? I 
want ...” 

Could they? Could they do otherwise! With one 
sweep of her hand Sunny, white-faced, every freckle 
blazing with indignation, clashed the rings along the 
rod. But Kitt? Sunny’s round eyes followed her as 
she blew back the curl over her eyes, stepped down 
from the bridge, swept through the outside curtains, 
out beside the apologetic Mrs. Cutler. 

With a glance that asked permission, Kitt, very slim 
and straight in her little blue, starched smock, raised 
cupped hands to her mouth, summoned her one vocal 
accomplishment and pierced the uttermost corners of 
the hall with an astounding cry. 

“Cuc\ . . . cool Cuc\cool Cuc\ . . . cool” 

What ? A bird in the hall ? A cuckoo ? Heads tipped 
back, round O’s of astonished mouths gaped at the 
girl in blue. A silence of admiration, even of envy, 
that such small-boy talent should be wasted on a 
grown-up, and a mere girl at that, seemed to seep 
swiftly through the masculine audience. You could 
have heard a puppet sigh. Every eye was on Kitt, 
every ear full-cocked. 

“What’s the matter back there?” Kitt could hear her 


32 


THE STRINGS UNWIND 

voice grow steady as she spoke. “Don’t you want to 
hear our show?” 

“Sure!” “Sure do!” “But Missis . . . but wait, 
M’am ... we can’t see back here!” came in shrill 
tones from the farthest seats where two frantic teachers 
were trying to restore order. Kitt had discovered the 
trouble: that the shorter children in the back sat too 
low, in their untiered seats, to see the puppet stage. 

“How long,” she turned to Mrs. Cutler, “would it 
take to remove all the chairs?” 

“About ten minutes. . . .” 

“And let all the children sit on the floor?” 

As one executive to another, Mrs. Cutler nodded 
brisk agreement and the order was given. Kitt, shin- 
ing-eyed with this new and surprising confidence, re¬ 
turned in ten minutes to the front of the big stage 
and received again that flattering attention. Now 
even those ’way at the back had a clear view. 

“You can all see, but can you listen?” she demanded 
with a grin. “We hope you can—and that you’ll like 
our show. That’s all.” She puffed back that refrac¬ 
tory lock again, twinkled at the audience and popped 
out of sight. The ensuing shout of approval almost 
bulged out the windows, but was followed by an 
attention so profound and flattering that even the 
marionettes must have felt that their best performance 
was required. 

Sunny, on the bridge, her eyes still large with as¬ 
tonishment, had whispered, “Ready?” 


33 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Kitt had nodded briskly. Of course she was ready! 
And the play was on. 

Joey, the clown, held center stage. With three other 
marionettes, he discussed the Puppet Maker, Papa 
John, who had created them and who held their con¬ 
trols. But the puppets, made for sale, didn’t wish to 
leave Papa John. Joey had a solution to offer. Once 
they were out in the world they were to behave their 
very worst: tangle their strings, disobey their con¬ 
trols. “Just,” interpolated Joey, “as I did a moment 
ago. You see?” And then no one would want to keep 
them and they would be returned to the Puppet Maker 
to stay. 

The curtains closed, were opened again. The scheme 
had been a success. All had been sold but had be¬ 
haved so badly that they had been returned to the 
Puppet Maker. With tipped-back head Joey addressed 
the Puppeteer. 

Papa John! Papa John! We’ll never have to leave 
you now. Aren’t you glad?” 

“No, no. You’ve ruined me!” came Papa John’s 
deep, despairing voice from above. “I can never sell 
another puppet. What shall I do?” 

Joey hung his head. He hadn’t, he said, thought of 
that. The other marionettes looked very chagrined. 

Then said the little brown bear with the bright red 
collar, “Why, but Papa John, we’ll play for you. We’ll 
put on such a lov-uvely show that people will pay to 


34 


THE STRINGS UNWIND 

come see it, and if you keep us always we’ll make 
more for you than if you’d sold us!” 

Applause from the other puppets; from the audi¬ 
ence. Joey cleared the stage and the revue began. 
There was Red Riding Hood and the Wolf. Then 
followed the sailors with their hornpipe, and after 
that a song, with lilting little topical verses written 
by Sunny, into which she had introduced names of 
various small boys from the Merida School. A huge 
success this, almost literally a howling success. When 
the hall was quiet again, there was the animal act, a 
very soft, woolly Teddy Bear who juggled balls and a 
rod. There was Zelie, the beautiful Persian dancer, 
and finally the General, Betsy and the story of the 
flag. By a coincidence, some of the younger pupils 
had been studying the history of the flag, so this act 
also met with particular applause. Finally there were 
Joey and all the others on the stage again. Tipping his 
head back, to look upwards, the little clown asked, 
“Wasn’t that a lovely show, Papa John?” 

“I never thought you had it in you,” came the voice 
of the Puppet Maker above. “But see what the audi¬ 
ence thinks.” 

Thus appealed to, the audience expressed itself freely 
and without embarrassment. Wild clapping, whistles, 
foot stamping, even a cheer or two; such applause, as 
seemed to Kitt and Sunny, gross overpayment for what 
they had done. One felt almost compelled to repay it 
in some way; perhaps a repetition of the entire per- 


35 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

formance. But white faced, and more weary than 
they had realized, they could only stand before the 
curtain, wavering, smiling uncertainly. 

The applause died down, the crowd began to move. 
Almost immediately the girls were ringed about by a 
sea of youngsters wanting to be shown by what magic 
the marionettes had come alive. 

Kitt felt completely unable to cope with this situa¬ 
tion. What did one do now? Then Sunny’s hand on 
her arm gave her a little shove. 

“Go and sit down. I can handle these.” 

It didn’t seem quite fair to leave this enthusiastic 
mob to Sunny. But perhaps one could manage such 
adults as hovered respectfully admiring about the 
fringes. There was a group of teachers, there was Mrs. 
Cutler—and Miss Jaques who had started all this. 
Kitt’s carefully planned speech of reproach for her 
former teacher melted before their congratulations. 
Most surprising of all was a woman from a summer 
camp, a school camp in the Adirondack mountains. 
Could the Kitt-Cat Marionettes possibly spare her a 
date, early next summer, for the camp ? Almost with 
the eagerness of a bargain hunter she made her re¬ 
quest. 

“Why . . . I’ll ask my partner,” Kitt stammered. 
Better leave it to Sunny to explain that, after all, theirs 
was not a professional company, and gracefully refuse. 

But in astonishment, Kitt saw Sunny nonchalantly 
draw from the pocket of her working smock a little 

3 6 


THE STRINGS UNWIND 

notebook, a small book in which she had jotted down 
the marionette characters and their order of appear¬ 
ance on the stage. Sunny thumbed it over rapidly. 

Glancing up she asked, “Would July fourteenth be 
all right? We seem to have ...” Her voice trailed 
off. One gathered that July fourteenth was free. “A 
little later? All right, August seventh?” And with a 
brisk businesslike nod she set down the date with a 
stub of a pencil. 

A moment later, alone with her partner, Kitt pro¬ 
tested, “But why did you take it down, Sunny? Why 
not refuse outright ? But, of course, we can’t keep such 
a date. . . And at Sunny’s continued silence reit¬ 
erated, “We couldn't, of course. . . . Could we?” 

Sunny’s eyes were crinkled, half-moons of amuse¬ 
ment. “Oh—I should think we might,” said that re¬ 
lentless optimist, Miss Fairweather. 


37 


Chapter Four 


MYSTERY 


wo weeks slipped by. Three, and four. Sunny 



1 hadn’t again mentioned that date for August sev¬ 
enth and Kitt was begining to breathe freely once 
more, even though she felt a little disappointed. Well, 
she knew when she was safe and she certainly wasn’t 
going to be the first to speak of anything so com¬ 
pletely mad. 

But there was a mystery about somewhere, some¬ 
thing, she was sure, quite apart from anything so far 
off as August, something about which Sunny had been 
talking to Kitt’s mother. But why Kitt’s mother be¬ 
fore Kitt herself? 

Moms, embroidering by the fire after dinner, had 
said, “I think Sunny’s plan a splendid one, my dear. 
Only you must take enough warm things. The coun¬ 
try will be awfully cold in April.” 

“What plan is that, Moms?” Kit had half a mar- 


MYSTERY 


ionette on her lap and, with strong, skillful fingers, 
rammed down the hospital cotton into the long cylin¬ 
ders of pale yellow, Japanese cotton crepe that would 
soon be puppet arms and legs. The cylinders filled, 
she stitched them across the top with strong double 
thread, next to the feet. These were already cut and 
machine stitched, but must be weighted with solder, a 
cut-off piece of flat wire well wrapped in cotton before 
it went into the foot, cotton stuffed around it and 
rammed in with a pencil, and the foot attached to 
the leg. With the check from their Merida perform¬ 
ance, they had insisted on paying Bill, at least for his 
materials. But that still left eleven dollars and sixty 
cents to be divided between the two partners. There 
had been some argument over that, Sunny insisting 
that all the original material had been of Kitt’s pur¬ 
chasing, Kitt insisting that Sunny should have some 
payment as the author of the revue. A compromise 
was reached by voting it a common fund, to be turned 
back into more marionettes for the Kitt-Cat Company. 

Moms had said something. . . . Oh, yes. Kitt 
glanced up with a mouthful of pins and an absent 
frown. “What plan?” 

Mums repeated, “Why, that you should go up to 
the Fairweather cabin together for the spring vaca¬ 
tion.” She sounded puzzled; just as though she thought 
Kitt must have already planned it with Sunny. 

“Oh,” commented Kitt. “Oh, yes. It does sound 
great fun.” And she wondered. Well, of course it 


39 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

was just a coincidence—until Dad spoke of it as 
though he, too, thought it had been prearranged be¬ 
tween the two girls. Mysteriouser and mysteriouser. 

“Sunny’s a practical person,” said Dad. “And she 
tells me they have a man who lives near the cabin to 
cut wood, tend fires and bring up water.” 

Of course it would be exciting. The Fair weathers 
had had the place for two summers, but Kitt had never 
been there. Spring vacation was only a week off, with 
budding trees and the smell of green things growing 
in mountain woods. Yes, it was a good plan. But 
whose plan was it? Certainly not hers. Inwardly 
amused, she kept quiet and waited. 

Sunny introduced the subject as though it were new. 
Casually she began, “It’d be sort of fun if you and I 
could run up to the cabin for over the holidays.” 

Kitt suppressed a spasm of mirth and, almost, con¬ 
trolled her treacherous dimple. Sunny glanced up. 

“Kitt! You young devil! You’ve heard about it al¬ 
ready!” she accused. 

Kitt giggled. “Seems like as if . . .” she drawled, 
in Adirondack patois. 

On the first morning of vacation, all blue and gold 
and springy, with a nipping little wind, the girls swung 
their suitcases off the miniature local train at Fort 
William station. Sunny had promised that Wallace, 
their camp handy man, would be there to pick them 
up. But no Wallace appeared. 


40 


MYSTERY 


“Oh, bother!” Sunny stood on the track behind the 
disappearing train and gazed about blankly. “Now, 
what do we do?” 

Kitt suggested that they might lug their bags to the 
top of the short hill where, one could see, the main 
street began. But here also was disclosed no handy 
man. And the camp was eleven miles out along a 
rough country road. Laden with a suitcase apiece they 
couldn’t hope to walk there. 

However, there were groceries to purchase. “There’s 
only one store. If he’s been held up by anything, he’ll 
expect to meet us there,” thought Sunny aloud. “Let’s 
get that job cleared up.” 

The general store, small and crowded, was hot with 
the fire from a huge, pot-bellied stove. Kitt had voted 
to be chief cook of the expedition and had her list 
ready; Sunny was sure there were plenty of staples, 
salt, sugar, cocoa, already at the log cabin. 

“So we’ll just get meat and vegetables, bread and 
cake,” said Kitt, ordering sufficient for their five or 
six days in camp while Sunny went off to explore 
the two blocks of Main Street for news of the missing 
Wallace. She returned as Kitt was superintending the 
packing of bread and eggs into a huge paper bag, so 
that they wouldn’t be crushed beneath cans of salmon 
and corned beef. 

Sunny leaned against the counter. “Wallace hasn’t 
been seen for a week or more.—Kitt, won’t the cash box 
run to chocolates of some kind ? I get so hungry for 


4 1 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

candy at the camp. Chocolate bars’ll do.—Why, they 
say he hasn’t been running his car all winter. I asked 
at the post office and the drug store.” 

The clerk behind the counter confirmed this trou¬ 
bling news. 

“Oh, but that’s bad, isn’t it?” worried Kitt. “Will 
we have to walk all the way?” 

Sunny laughed. “Goodness, no. Is anybody down 
from Cutter Hill?” she asked the clerk. 

“Hiley Steves might be, Mis’ Fairweather. He was 
in earlier this mornin’. Said as how he was cornin’ 
back. That’ll be his car there now, that old Ford.” 

Sunny dashed from the store again. Kitt, weighing 
a can of sardines in her hand and considering a lemon 
to help the flavor, saw her stop a rattletrap old car 
which drew up at the curb. A bearded man leaned 
out to speak to Sunny, nodded, spat, and glanced 
toward the store. 

The door flew open again. “It’s all right. Come on, 
Kitt,” she called breathlessly. “Hiley says he’s got an 
errand on the way and he’ll take us the rest of the 
distance to the cabin. But he’s got to be back here 
later to pick up some freight at the station. We’ll have 
to hurry. Leave those bags. Hiley’ll put them in the 
car.” 

Hiley said he had his own groceries to pick up, and 
Kitt, leaning out over the car door, saw him pack two 
large bags of provisions into the back seat on top of 
other boxes and bundles. 


42 


MYSTERY 


“Got to stop at White’s Farm,” he said, squeezing 
in beside them where, even before, there had scarcely 
seemed room for a slim mouse. Kitt held her suitcase 
on her lap; Sunny’s bag was beneath their knees. 

Almost immediately they rattled off the smooth 
Montreal Highway and jolted down a pockmarked 
road, across the bridge, roared in second gear up a 
short hill and, swooping into high, zoomed between 
meadows already powdering into green, orchards 
faintly budding in the warm sunlight. Kitt tempora¬ 
rily forgot that this trip held a mystery, and sniffed 
the air with complete ecstasy. What fun this was 
going to be! How sweet of Sunny to have thought 
of it! And uttering little squeals of joy over the tall 
blue mountains rapidly looming ahead, she was told 
that this one was “Sleeping Beauty,” that “Furnace” 
shoved its dark, pine-clad head just beyond, that their 
road led through that opening gap. Four miles and 
they jolted to a stop. 

“Hev to climb out here a minute and leave some 
feed,” explained their chauffeur and lumbered through 
a white picket gate into the farmyard. Beyond them 
came squeals and yapping as of many dogs. 

Sunny explained that this was the White Farm. 
“They take dogs to board, too. See there, behind the 
chicken wire fence ? They have runs and things. . . .” 

But Kitt, unhearing, had scrambled down and was 
standing in the road. Dark head uncovered to the 
breeze, she stretched wide arms of rapture, wriggled 


43 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

gloved fingers. “Oh . . . oh, I love it, I love it!” she 
crooned happily. 

Sunny grinned down at her from the car. “Hop 
in again, Kitt. Don’t be a goopy; it’s just spring and 
the mountain air that’s gone to your silly head!” But 
her audience had vanished. 

Kitt was leaping across the road, was tapping fingers 
of invitation on the wire of the dogs’ fence, bending 
close to peer within. The chorus of barks and yaps 
increased to a deafening volume, and behind the 
screen were blurred wild leapings of furry forms. 

Over her shoulder Kitt called, “Oh, do come here, 
Sunny. Isn’t this the darlingest . . .” 

“Don’t go giving your heart away. They all have 
owners, you know.” 

But Kitt’s affection had been instantly claimed by 
the odd one of the lot. Most of the dogs were collies 
or wire-haired terriers. This one was different, oh, so 
different! A small pointed nose, coal-black and shiny, 
a seal-black head, sleek as though wet, melting dark 
eyes, long floppy ears and a ratty, wagging tail. Be¬ 
tween these a slim arched body, wide-chested, amus¬ 
ingly long, upheld by short black bow legs and flat 
black paws; a dachshund, shiny black, almost fully 
grown, absurdly lovable. 

Mr. White and Hiley came down the steps. “After¬ 
noon, Mis’ Fairweather. Good to see ye. Bit early 
here for ye, ain’t it?” 

Sunny explained their brief visit and bobbed her 


44 


MYSTERY 


head toward Kitt. “She’s got a crush on one of your 
dogs, Mr. White.” 

“What? That ther sausage dog?” Mr. White’s ges¬ 
ture was apologetic. “He ain’t no good. Can’t ever 
hunt, can’t ever herd sheep, ain’t no watch dog.” 

“Oh, but he’s such a darling.” Kitt’s fingers were 
being lavishly saluted through the wire. “Is he yours?” 

“Yep. Mine. Folks that brought him here never 
paid no board and that was three months ago. Never 
heard from ’em since.” 

“Oh, but then will you let me have him? . . . Sell 
him to me?” Kitt was too eager to own the dog to 
be her usual cautious self, though almost before the 
words, “Sell him,” were out, she realized that Mr. 
White had been about to make her a present of the 
dachshund. 

But her enthusiasm had caused his Yankeeism to 
blossom. Cautiously he eyed her, contemplatively he 
spat in the road. He jerked a thumb toward the dog 
pen. “Give me a dollar for him?” 

Kitt went suddenly all stubborn, answering Yankee¬ 
ism with its kind. “Nope. Fifty cents.” 

And was startled almost out of her neat little laced 
boots to hear him reply, “Dog’s you’n, Miss.” 

Which was all right, if she had that much. From 
her purse she began to count out the coins. “Thirty- 
five, thirty-six. Sunny, will you lend me thirteen 
cents?” 

“I’ll give it to you,” said Sunny. “Then almost a 


45 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

third of him will be mine. We’ll take him right along, 
Mr. White.” 

With the feed bag gone there was room in the back 
for Kitt’s bag, and the dachshund snuggled on her 
lap. The car clattered its way toward that gap in the 
hills. 

"What’ll we call him, Sunny? Low. . . . Low 
Something? Lie down, Low Something. Oh, you’ll 
have to have a name right away if you’re to learn to 
obey.” 

“Lowengrin?” suggested Sunny sedately. 

"Idiot! No. Low Boy? . . . Don’t quite like that 
either. How about . . . Low Jinks?” 

Hiley chuckled and Sunny nodded approval. Thus 
did Low Jinks become the third member of the Kitt- 
Cat troupe. 


Chapter Five 


MYSTERY SOLVED 


I t was darkening with the rapidity of early April 
when Sunny fitted her key into the lock. “Thanks 
so much, Hiley,” she called over her shoulder. “Yes, 
the stuff’ll be all right, there on the veranda. Don’t 
wait.” 

With Low Jinks under her arm Kitt picked up her 
suitcase and followed into the big living room. Vaguely 
she had been aware of a gorgeous grove of silver birch, 
ghostlike in the dying daylight, of a purple mountain 
top looming immensely above them, of the scent of 
pines and chill freshness and a so-called road, a one¬ 
time logging trail. Dropping the case she rubbed her 
elbow and wondered if bruises could be mortal. The 
distant clash of springs and gears proclaimed that 
Hiley had got as far as that jagged outcrop of rock 
beyond the open meadow. Marooned like Crusoe, 


47 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

but, thank heaven, they didn’t have to rescue their next 
five days’ meals from a stormy sea! 

The scratch of a match, the sound of groping feet, 
the clink of a lamp chimney, and the room sprang into 
view. This was going to be fun! A huge, barnlike 
room, the walls of whitewashed logs, the floor of blue 
painted planking, a big table in the middle, bunks in 
one corner, a stone fireplace at the end and doors lead¬ 
ing off in two directions. 

“Better shut the door,” was Sunny’s suggestion. 
“Then you can put the dog down. Once he’s fed, he 
won’t be so likely to go off hunting rabbits and lose 
himself in the woods.” 

The shaded lamp gave little detail, but Kitt noted 
comfortable modern fittings, shelves of pleasant books, 
warm Indian rugs, antlers over the fireplace, bright 
cushions and deep chairs. 

“And the first thing, my child,” said Sunny, the 
Sybarite, “is a fire and food.” 

Pine needles and a match started the ready-laid fire 
on the big hearth. Jinks’s inquisitive nose examined 
his new domain while the girls shed hats and heavy 
coats, rubbed hands before the quickening blaze. 
Sunny was laying heavier wood on the flames as Kitt 
made a dash out into the cold for Sunny’s bag and 
the provisions. There was the small suitcase, on the 
edge of the veranda. She sought hastily for the big 
paper bags, caught up the case and hurried back to 
warmth and brightness. 


MYSTERY SOLVED 

“Where did you tell Hiley to put the things?” 

“Can’t you find ’em? Wait a jiff. I’ll get a flash¬ 
light and help. They can’t be far.” 

Fifty yards, a hundred yards back along the trail, 
but still they found nothing. The bags just weren’t. 
All those groceries, all the meat and vegetables, the 
fruit and chocolate . . . and eleven miles to the vil¬ 
lage. Now what would old R. Crusoe have done? 
They slammed the door to shut out the cold, and dived 
back to the comforting blaze. 

“There’ll be stuff in the storeroom of course,” con¬ 
soled Sunny. “And to-morrow . . .” 

Kitt’s present hunger rejected plans for the future 
in favor of a little something on account. 

“If you’ll take the lamp, and forage,” continued 
Sunny, “I’ll tend to these blankets. Mother made me 
promise to air them as soon as I got in.” She turned 
toward the bunks. “Upper or lower ? Uppers are more 
fun, aren’t they?” 

“Lots,” said Kitt, and flashlamp in hand stepped 
through the farther of the two other doors, but was 
immediately stopped by a barrier against her ankles. 
Low Jinks, just behind, sniffed expectantly. This, said 
his nose, is not the room for food. 

No food, but—Kitt set the flash abruptly on the 
washstand of the small bedroom and bent to exam¬ 
ine the cases, four of them, at her feet. Whistling 
silently to herself she unbuckled a strap. Marionettes 
in one case, in another, Bill’s pipe proscenium. No 


49 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

need to examine the others. Here was the equipment 
of the Kitt-Cat Marionette Company; even to two 
extra packages, one large and flat, the other small and 
chunky. So now, Sunny, my dear, the mystery is 
solved! She fumbled in a case. 

Still grinning Kitt returned to the living room. “I 
don’t suppose you’d care for a purely cannibal meal, 
would you?” She held out Joey the clown. “If not, 
you’d better give me better directions as to how to 
find the pantry.” 

Sunny, the brazen, didn’t even flinch. “S’pose I 
might as well confess.” It had really been very simple. 
She had been so anxious for the Kitt-Cats to keep that 
August engagement that she had finally confided her 
plan to Bill, who had said that he had a shop delivery 
to make up in this part of the mountains. Together 
they had arranged to kidnap the puppets, load the lot 
on the truck and dump them here. “But before I 
could do that I had to find out if your father or mother 
minded your coming up with me. . . .” 

“Oh, so that was it?” Well, Sunny was right, of 
course. At home there wasn’t space to set up the com¬ 
plete stage and to leave it, day after day, in that state of 
constructive disorder so necessary to creative work. 
Here, indeed, was the ideal workshop. And Sunny 
had even remembered to purchase unbleached muslin 
and wax crayons for the new back drops. 

“Forgiven, Kitt?” she asked a little anxiously. 

Kitt snorted. “Don’t be a silly. It’s a swell plan; 


50 


MYSTERY SOLVED 

wish I’d thought of it first. But lordy, I’m ravenous. 
Where is this store of food of which you prate?” 

They raided the pantry. It was adventurous, pioneer¬ 
ing with civilized improvements: dishes, can opener, 
knives and forks. The only cans seemed to contain 
salmon, out of which Jinks was also fed. Crackers 
from an unopened box, a jar of strawberry jam, patent 
cocoa needing only the addition of hot water from the 
kettle on the crane. Munched close to the hearth, this 
made a delightful impromptu meal and every crumb 
was cleared before they piled the dishes into the kitchen 
and voted to wash up in the morning. 

Kitt glanced at Sunny, Sunny at Kitt. They both 
grinned and started for the room where the mario¬ 
nettes were packed. It was days now, since they’d last 
handled them, and more than thrilling to have the 
show up here, all on their own with no interruptions, 
nothing else to think about. Also when the forest 
outside rustled with strange sounds, and they realized 
they were a long way from home, the familiar snub 
nose of Joey the Clown, the funny jointed yo-heave- 
ho roll of Barnacle Bill, would be reassuring com¬ 
pany. 

Sunny had propped Barnacle Bill on a chair in front 
of her and was considering lines for a possible sea 
song, Kitt was trying to make Betsy Ross imitate Low 
Jinks’s floppy waddle when a heavy tread crossed the 
veranda and there was a rap at the door. 

“Gosh, I wonder—” 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Hurray, that’ll be Hiley with the groceries he for¬ 
got to leave!” 

But the morose, unshaven face of the tall man in 
the stained mackinaw, blue jeans and gum boots was 
a stranger to Kitt. 

“Evenin’, Miss Catharine,” he nodded to Sunny. 
“Bin on the lake a-fishin’. Calculated I’d jist drop in 
and see what them lights was doin’ here. So ye got 
up all right, did ye?” 

Sunny nodded introductions. This was Wallace, 
the man who was to have met them at the station. 
Maybe . . . But Sunny voiced the idea first. 

“Hiley Steves brought us up. But he forgot our 
groceries, so they must be in his car, or at Swan’s in 
the village. Could you drive in for them in the morn¬ 
ing?” 

Wallace removed his cap, unbuttoned his mackinaw, 
shifted a quid contemplatively from cheek to cheek 
before replying. That, it appeared, was just what he 
couldn’t do, and for the same reason he hadn’t been 
able to meet ’em at the depot. His car had been laid 
up all winter, couldn’t run without no license and he 
wouldn’t have no money for no license this summer, 
times bein’ what they was. Of course he’d pass word 
down to Hiley, if anybody was goin’ that way in the 
next few days, and he himself could spare them a 
little coffee and sugar. 

Hurriedly Sunny declined. They’d have things like 
that, she was pretty sure, in the storeroom. Dad always 


52 


MYSTERY SOLVED 

saw to that before they closed up the cabin in the fall. 

Wallace re-shifted his quid. If they’d only come up, 
he indicated, later in the season when folks generally 
came, some one could have met them. 

Sunny explained the unusual visit: spring vacation, 
the desire to get to work on the marionettes. “Show 
him one, Kitt.” 

Kitt walked Betsy Ross back and forth across the 
floor, holding the control high in both hands. Wal¬ 
lace’s dour gaze regarded the marionette thoughtfully. 
Betsy received a puzzled prod from a large gnarled 
finger. 

“Seems like a long ways for two big gals like you 
to come to play with their dolls.” And his tone con¬ 
veyed a distressing doubt of their sanity. 


53 


Chapter Six 


BARNACLE BILL 


B oth Kitt and Sunny had clambered into their 
bunks when they remembered the light on the 
table. Kitt, being last in, voted to get down again 
while Sunny, who had taken the flash to her bed, 
directed it downward for the climb back in the dark¬ 
ness. 

Kitt paused, one foot on the lower bunk, Low Jinks 
beneath her arm. “Is it safe to leave the door open, 
Sunny, if I take the pup to bed with me? I think 
he’ll stay all right. And I would like to be able to see 
the stars over the mountain, through the open door.” 

“Sure,” assured Sunny. Then in Wallace’s tones, 
“Thar hain’t no b’ars in them thar hills.” 

As Kitt scrambled upward again, she nearly dis¬ 
lodged a row of fishing poles arranged on nails in the 
side of the cabin above her bunk. “If I get hungry in 
the night I can fish for a tin of salmon,” she murmured 
sleepily and was conscious for a moment of Low Jinks 


54 


BARNACLE BILL 


sniffling round and round, scrabbling for a place for 
his small black body among the blankets at her feet, 
and of nothing else at all for some hours. 

Slowly through her dreams rumbled and ground 
what seemed to be a railroad train, grinding its way 
up a steep grade. “Gr ... r ... r ... r, Gr ... r 
. . . r, Gr ... r .. . r.” Louder and louder every 
minute. With eyes tightly shut, too warmly com¬ 
fortable to let sleep escape her entirely, she clung to the 
dream. “Gr ... r ... r, Gr ... r the grind¬ 

ing continued. Then a whisper, sharp and clear,— 
Sunny’s voice, piercing through to her consciousness. 

“Kitt, Kitt! What’s that noise, Kitt ?” 

Kitt sat up in bed. Darkness, except for the star¬ 
light outside. Jinks was down at her feet, near Sunny’s 
head; she could hear him whimpering and whining; 
a sharp yap from him swept away the last of her 
dream. The grinding stopped, began again. It seemed 
to be right in the room with them. Then a rustle and 
a rattle, and the pad, scrape, pad, of heavy, clawed feet 
on the wooden floor of the cabin. 

Sunny had said there weren’t any bears! 

“For Pete’s sake, turn on your flash, Sunny. If I’ve 
got to be eaten, I’d like a little light on it.” 

Sunny could be heard fumbling beneath her pillow, 
and immediately the room was illuminated by a long 
beam from the flash. “There it is, that’s it! See! By 
the table leg!” 


55 



STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

The first feeling, as Kitt leaned over her bunk, was 
one of disappointment. What, that small thing? 
Small, at least for a bear or a railroad train, or even 
a mountain lion. Something dark and hunched up 
and bristly waddled round the end of the table and 
faced the light with small blinking eyes. Jinks whim¬ 
pered and barked again. 

“Don’t let him down, Sunny. Better hold him.” 

“It’s a porcupine,” explained the more experienced 
Sunny. “Probably came in through the open door 
and was gnawing the bark on those table legs. Now, 
what do we do next?” 

“Oh!” exclaimed Kitt. “They throw their quills, 
don’t they? Can they shoot as high as this?” 

“Goofy!” said Sunny. Just the same, one couldn’t 
exactly go back to sleep with a porcupine so inti¬ 
mately in the household. Nor could one, with bare 
ankles and those menacing quills, face the task of 
driving it out into the night. No telling about those 
quills. Sunny had been sure about the bears, too! 

While they went into conference, Sunny switched 
off the light to save the battery. Kitt had the best idea. 
“If I could just get hold of my shoes!” High laced 
boots which she had left on the floor near the bunk. 
But she didn’t feel equal to climbing down and get¬ 
ting them. 

Then a flung-up arm encountered something over¬ 
head that clattered. 

“I’ve got it!” she cried. “Fishing poles!” 

56 



What price shoes, with a brave seaman for protector! 

















































BARNACLE BILL 


“So what?” said Sunny. 

“Put on the light and I’ll fish for my shoes. But do 
hang on to Jinks.” 

By sheer good luck there was a hook and line on 
the first pole they got down. But the pole itself was 
too long and too awkward to allow the hook to swing 
directly beneath the bunk. Sunny held a steady flash 
as they cast and cast again, but without result. Her 
own shoes had been left somewhere across the room, 
there by the chair where sat Barnacle Bill. Maybe they 
could get those. Kitt cast farther a-stream. 

There was a scrabbling rush from the porcupine as 
the hook caught tight in the scruff of Barnacle Bill’s 
neck and swung him clear of his chair. Sunny col¬ 
lapsed in laughter into her bunk and the light went 
out. Barnacle Bill’s leaded feet clattered a tattoo on 
the boards of the floor. 

“Now how’m I going to get clear of him?” said 
Kitt. 

“Pull him aboard,” wheezed Sunny through gasps 
of mirth. “Unhook him and try again.” And she 
flashed on the torch. Jinks’s barking almost drowned 
her voice, but her arm held his frantic wriggling little 
body close and tight. 

The porcupine made a rush for Barnacle Bill, swung 
savagely round, bristling tail foremost, to let this 
strange apparition impale itself on his quills. But 
the gallant sailor, unlike a dog, refused to be tempted. 
Another rush and yet another, each courageously with- 


59 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 


stood by the able old salt, and each rush bringing the 
porcupine nearer the door. What price shoes, with a 
brave seaman for protector! 

With Sunny’s torch spot-lighting the strange engage¬ 
ment, Kitt had discarded the shoe idea, Bill’s tactics 
being more effective. 

“Go it, Bill!” Sunny cheered him on. Jinks’s excited 
yapping added further encouragement. 

Now only a yard to the door. Suddenly the porcu¬ 
pine abandoned his rear-guard action and made a bolt 
for safety. They could hear the rattle and drag of its 
quills across the porch, hear it lumber down the steps. 
Then, silence. 

Dropping the fishpole anyhow, across the table, Kitt 
scrambled down from her bunk, slammed the door 
and unhitched the brave Barnacle Bill. Back to safety. 
The light went out. 

Kitt subsided with a giggle of relief. “Now, Sunny, 
unless any more of your little wild friends are due to 
call, suppose we get in a bit of sleep!” 


60 


Chapter Seven 


PLANS PROGRESS 


B reakfast was of salmon, more cocoa, more crackers. 

But is wasn’t just a breakfast; it was an adventure. 
An adventure with the smoke of pine needle kindling 
driving them, coughing and weeping, from the kitchen 
until they discovered the right dampers; with water 
drawn by bucket from the spring below the cabin, 
clumsily spilled, anyway a good bit of it, inside Kitt’s 
shoes as she swung the heavy pail up the steep path; 
everything you did seemed to call for some knack that 
made everything seem of special importance. 

Kitt chose all the outdoor chores so that she could 
feast her eyes on distant lines of mountain tops or, 
hurrying from woodshed to kitchen, sniff up great 
lungfuls of the pine scented air en route . 

“You know, Sunny,” she burst out, after one of these 
excursions, “people are goops.” 

Sunny, scraping mixed soot and mouse nest out of 


61 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

the back of the oven, paused politely to ask how, and 
shoved in a loose hairpin with a blackened forefinger. 

“Treading on each other’s toes, in towns and cities, 
when they might be out here.” Though, as Sunny 
pointed out, if they all came out here, this would be 
the city and the other places would go back to pine 
woods and beech forest! 

And there was salmon again, for lunch. 

“Your family seems fond of salmon,” remarked 
Kitt. 

Sunny groaned. “We loathe it. It’s almost a family 
complex. Some client of Dad’s sent him a whole case 
from British Columbia, and in two years we haven’t 
opened one can. Till yesterday.” 

Dishes were Sunny’s job. With those finished, they 
returned to the big living room to spread out the 
marionettes and the theatre. Kitt measured out long 
yards of unbleached muslin and sprawled on the floor, 
roughing in with ordinary ten-cent wax crayons the 
outline of the various back drops. For Barnacle Bill, 
the bow of an old square-rigger and a bit of wharf 
copied from a book on the shelf; for the Gallagher 
and Shean act, a miniature edition of an old-fashioned 
vaudeville curtain with its old-fashioned local adver¬ 
tising. For Red Riding Hood, of course a forest scene 
and a thatched cottage. Then the sketches were filled 
in with solid color, the wax set with a warm iron on 
the wrong side of the material, and you had stage 


62 


PLANS PROGRESS 

scenery that would neither crack nor peel and, when 
folded, took up almost no room at all. 

On the second day, a gorgeous day if it hadn’t been 
for a salmon breakfast, salmon lunch and the prospect 
of salmon for dinner, Wallace slouched up the trail. 

“Seemed like I’d better see’t you wasn’t runnin’ out 
o’ kindlin’ or somethin’.” 

But he couldn’t do the one thing they really wanted, 
bring up their provisions from the village. “That old 
car now, I reckon I wouldn’t get her license fees out 
er her this year. Thar ain’t the summer folks thar 
used ter be and mostly they brings their own cars.” 

It was then, Sunny said afterwards, that her brain 
sparked. If Wallace would let them have his big five- 
passenger car, large enough with its back seat removed 
to hold the marionettes, cases, props and all, for this 
summer, they could turn it back to him in the fall 
fully licensed and in good state of repair and at a time 
when he most needed it to bring up hunting parties. 
The idea, she protested modestly, didn’t come all at 
once. Nor were they ever quite clear at just what 
point Wallace accepted it. Kitt’s cautious objection 
was that it was silly to take on a big car like that, even 
as a loan, for a single solitary engagement. Sunny 
airly waved that aside. If one summer camp wanted 
the Kitt-Cat Marionettes badly enough to pay for 
them, others might, too. If they had the car . . . 
Sunny had a license and Kitt could get one soon . . . 
well, anyway there was a big school camp, Camp Ce- 

63 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

darbrook, quite near Fort William, right on their way 
home. For experience they might stop off there and 
see about the chance of an engagement. 

“Other camps! More engagements!” Kitt’s reaction 
to this astounding idea was characteristic. Her own 
idea being, as she outlined it somewhat uneasily to 
Sunny, that they’d gone just about as far as they dared 
with this professionalism. It was all right to give one 
show, the show they’d been rushed into at the high 
school. And perhaps even this summer camp date, 
since they had now a repertoire of one revue, and all 
the puppets and back drops that were necessary. 

“Hardly worth while making all those back drops 
just for one more date,” declared Sunny, seated on the 
table, swinging one foot lazily. “We could have got¬ 
ten along with what we had, and we can’t keep a 
date without a car. And if we get enough more dates, 
we can afford to get Wallace’s car.” 

There was something wrong in that reasoning, but 
Kitt couldn’t put her fingers on it. Dropping her 
crayons she sat back on her heels to survey Sunny. 
Just what was Miss Fairweather’s scheme, after all? 

Miss Fairweather’s mouth curled in a knowing grin. 
“To build up a good marionette company,” she ex¬ 
plained blandly. “A professional company, if you like. 
And professional means ‘undertaken as a means of 
subsistence.’ I know because I looked it up. We got 
fifteen dollars for that show at Merida. If we could 
get half a dozen more this summer . . .” 

64 


PLANS PROGRESS 


“But, Sunny, you don’t need a ‘means of subsist¬ 
ence.’ ” Kitt blew the lock back out of her eyes. “You 
get a fat allowance.” 

“S’never big enough. And anyway I want to be 
able to do something for a living, not just the usual 
debut and dances and things.” 

That was funny about her, Kitt thought. Sunny, 
even if she finished college, wouldn’t need to earn 
her own living. But Kitt, if she wanted to go to col¬ 
lege, must do it herself. Once, two years ago, she had 
hoped that making marionettes might pay well enough 
to start that college fund, but that idea had gone up 
in smoke. All her small profits had gone back into 
more and better puppets. Perhaps Sunny was on the 
right line. There weren’t many people who wanted to 
buy puppets, but people would always pay to be enter¬ 
tained. So Sunny’s point was won, temporarily, though 
Kitt’s heart gave a sickening drop, like an elevator out 
of control, whenever she thought of appearing before 
an audience again. 

In the cabin just the ordinary process of living took 
so much longer than they had expected: lighting fires, 
trimming lamps, keeping yourself, the cabin, Jinks, 
clothes and dishes in order without any special facili¬ 
ties. Yet they enjoyed it, and, hurrying frantically 
from task to task, actually accomplished a great part 
of what they had planned to do. They had had four 
full rehearsals of the entire performance; most of the 
new back drops were finished; Sunny had written a 

65 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

song for Barnacle Bill and taught it to him, with ges¬ 
tures; Kitt was talking about a character in Alice in 
Wonderland which could be built into an act, perhaps 
Humpty Dumpty. 

Sunny, hurling the latest empty salmon can out into 
the ash pit, had still further grounds for jubilation. 

“To-morrow, my child, we shake the pine needles 
out of our hair and start for home and Liskeard. Sun¬ 
daes will greet us along the road, roast beef sandwiches, 
and apple pies, large and fat, will rise up to call us 
famished, and plump green asparagus tips laid neatly 
in a salad will wave little welcoming hands as we pass 
by. Pass, but not disregard ’em.” She spun round on 
her heels. “For heaven’s sake, see if you can’t do 
something to disguise the salmon for supper, even if 
you have to flavor it with kerosene! Jinks looks more 
like a seal every hour and I’m sure I’m growing flip¬ 
pers.” 

Yet when they lugged their fourth and final load 
of things down the trail to the car, whose ancient 
springs Sunny was afraid to risk on the rough trail, 
Kitt lingered a pace or two behind and waved an affec¬ 
tionate farewell to the friendly little cabin, the silver 
birches, and the pines. Not until the last of their be¬ 
longings were packed inside the car, not until Sunny 
had driven away with Wallace’s anxious advice rum¬ 
bling behind them, not till the jagged mountain had 
faded into a soft blue blur beyond the wakening apple 


66 


PLANS PROGRESS 

orchards, did Kitt gulp over the lump in her throat 
and try to speak: 

“Been a grand five days, Sunny.” 

‘And what we need most now . . Sunny broke 
off to change gears as she swung into the main road 
and Fort William, “is a telephone and a square meal.” 

The proprietor of the Good Eat Shop seemed sur¬ 
prised as they clambered out of Wallace’s ancient car. 
Yes, sure he had a ’phone. Yes, there’d be plenty to 
eat. 

“You order, while I get the Cedarbrook Camp on 
the wire,” said Sunny, fishing for a nickel in her purse. 
The ’phone was an old-fashioned wall affair, next to 
Kitt’s table in the window. She heard the coin tinkle 
into the machine as she looked up from the menu. 

“Two large roast beef sandwiches, with plenty of 
gravy. Two glasses of milk, two pieces of apple pie, 
double size, with cheese, and . . .” 

Sunny had her number, was talking. “. . . any date 
in July ... for the Kitt-Cat Marionettes . . .” 

The proprietor was uneasily apologetic. He had, it 
seemed, been too hasty in his assurances. The apple 
pie and milk, yes. But no roast beef to-day. The cook 
had given notice this morning and left half an hour 
later. He could mix up a nice salad . . . 

Something green and crisp? Kitt nodded. Sunny 
with hand over mouthpiece was keeping Kitt informed 
in whispers. 

Marionettes. . . . The caretaker, who was all alone 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

at the camp just now, didn’t seem to know anything 
about those. Yes, Mr. Cedarbrook did have entertain¬ 
ments, quite often. What’s more he had a big hall for 
them in every one of his five camps. . . . 

A little more and Sunny hung up. 

“Wait a minute,” Kitt re-called the proprietor. 
“What kind of salad did you say?” 

Sunny, full of fresh ambition struck in with, “Oh, 
Kitt, that’s five camps. If we got one, I’ll bet we could 
get ’em all. What gorgeous luck!” 

A brief pause when everything seemed to stand still, 
as the proprietor opened his mouth. Kitt almost knew 
what was coming. 

“Salmon salad. Nice canned salmon,” said Mine 
Host proudly. 


68 


Chapter Eight 


A HAT IN THE WIND 


S unny slid the little car to the curb and pulled out 
the ignition key. “Ask in the drug store where 
this Cedarbrook person lives, will you, Kitt? Then 
if it’s not far we’ll leave the car and walk. I’d like to 
stretch my legs and think out a good sales talk, one 
that no mere man can resist.” 

Kitt laughed as she slammed the car door. In a 
moment she returned with the information that Mr. 
Cedarbrook’s house was only three blocks down this 
same street, a “white house with green blinds that 
you just couldn’t not see, miss.” 

It was a bright windy day with a sky full of scud¬ 
ding clouds and rocking lilacs in front yards ready to 
burst into bloom. Kitt clung to the severe little black 
hat that topped her brown curls; Low Jinks woofed 
his appreciation of this freedom and, twinkling along 
beside them, shook his head to keep his long silk ears 
right side out to the breeze. 

69 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“You do look grand and grown-up.” Kitt’s sidelong 
glance at Sunny was slightly envious. No amount of 
borrowed finery, Mom’s new spring hat, even her own 
most severely tailored suit, could make Kitt’s round 
brown eyes anything but young and excited, and her 
feet felt a tendency to dance, regrettable in a dignified 
young business woman. So if they wished the Kitt- 
Cats to be taken with due solemnity, it must be Sunny 
who should appear as head of the firm. Kitt herself 
had done all she could to avoid this forthcoming inter¬ 
view. After all, they weren’t professionals in the mario¬ 
nette business; they didn’t need this booking nor the 
four which, Sunny brightly insisted, might follow it, 
in order to eat. But now that she had forced herself 
into it . . . well, Sunny had done a bit of persuading, 
too! ... it seemed all the more necessary to make it 
a success. Like taking a horrid medicine. Once you’ve 
held your nose and forced yourself to it, you do expect 
it to cure everything thereafter. 

Cars whizzed past, girls in bright coats and sweaters 
were blown like leaves along the clean walks, and 
chestnuts budded overhead. They had come to the 
beginning of the third block. Kitt, looking for a white 
house with green blinds, was wondering what was 
behind that tall picket fence with its decoratively high 
hedge of blowing lilacs, when a man passed them. 
They wouldn’t have noticed him particularly if it 
hadn’t been for his hat; nor his hat if it hadn’t been 


7° 


A HAT IN THE WIND 

for the wind. But suddenly the headgear whiffed by, 
a tantalizing missile of gray felt, not six feet above 
Low Jinks’s quivering nose. With a flurry the wind 
whirled it higher, turned it over, and with a final 
puff the thing vanished over the lilac hedge. 

“Jinks! Jinks! Come back here,” Kitt commanded 
in masterful tones. Commanded in vain. Low Jinks 
had possessed an owner for only a few weeks, and 
generations of ancestors were urging him to the chase. 
He was after the hat with a grin and a woof of de¬ 
light. Not dramatically over the hedge, that was im¬ 
possible for a dog of his breed and a hedge of such 
dimensions; but earnestly and practically under, with 
a wriggle and a flip and a farewell ecstatic wriggle of 
a thin black tail. 

Kitt turned round anxious eyes to the man. “Oh, 
dear!” she wailed in tones completely at variance with 
the mature borrowed garments in which she had come 
job hunting. “I never knew him to be like this before. 
What should we do?” 

“It’s no matter at all. Really . . .” the hatless one was 
beginning. A pleasant man with a bronzy outdoor 
sort of face, and thick gray hair ruffled by the breeze. 

“Oops! He’s got it! He’s got his foot on it!” Sunny, 
forgetting to be grown-up and, with face close to the 
picket fence, was relaying news from the field. “Your 
dog’s a swell retriever, Kitt. Never guessed he was 
so talented. Now he’s bringing it back!” 


7 1 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Kitt flopped on her knees on the flags and peered 
between the lilac stems. She could see Jinks, hat held 
in mouth, head high to keep the brim from dragging 
before his short twinkling legs as he rushed trium¬ 
phantly for the hedge. His eyes were impish with 
pride. Gracious! If he tried to squeeze through the 
way he had gone there wouldn’t be much left of the 
man’s headgear. Kitt shouted firmly: 

“Drop it, Jinks! Drop it, I say!” 

At the familiar voice the little dog paused and 
glanced anxiously around. Could it be possible that he 
was mistaken ? That the man didn’t want his beautiful 
hat after all this fuss and bother? Then he caught 
sight of his mistress and came on, driving the mis¬ 
shapen felt between the stems of the bushes, oozing 
blithely after it. Kitt commanded again: 

“Drop it, Jinks!” 

“Oh, please don’t bother. I can . . .” begged the 
man behind her, starting toward the gate. 

“But he’s got to learn to obey,” explained Kitt with 
stern gravity, and for the moment regardless of the 
hat. Of course, nobody had any idea that the dachs¬ 
hund knew how to fetch and carry like this. How 
could one, on such short ownership? Just at the other 
side of the hole through which he had entered, Jinks 
paused, dropping his burden. Reproachfully, reluc¬ 
tantly. But there it was; she could take it or not, he 
had done his full duty. He wriggled through. Kitt 
reached a long arm and picked up the hat. 


72 





"Drop it, Jinks! Drop it, 1 say!” 






















































































































































































































































































































































































































A HAT IN THE WIND 

“But please don’t trouble, I can so easily . . said 
the man behind her, still protesting. 

“It’s no trouble.” Kitt glanced reassuringly over her 
shoulder. “I won’t drag it through. We can get it 
this way, I think.” And slowly, with great care, inch 
by inch, she began to pass it up from hand to hand, 
her fingers reaching through the narrow spaces be¬ 
tween the palings. “Now if you can reach it from 
the top . . .” she said. And a moment later Jinks was 
being patted for his feat and told he mustn’t do it 
again, and the man was somewhat ruefully brush¬ 
ing the hat with his sleeve. It seemed rather a new 
hat. 

“That’s quite all right. It isn’t hurt. I am very grate¬ 
ful.” He appeared amused, and indeed Low Jinks 
was a cunning thing. Still on her knees on the side¬ 
walk, Kitt beamed appreciation. Quite forgetting her 
usual shyness she asked, “Could you tell us where— 
that is, we’re looking for the house of a Mr. Cedar- 
brook. They told us at the drug store that it’s some¬ 
where in this block.” 

“Why I’m—it’s right here. This is it.” The man in¬ 
dicated the house beyond the lilac hedge. 

“Oh, thank you,” said Kitt, scrambling up. Sunny 
seemed to be signaling with her eyebrows. Kitt 
frowned, wondering, but went on. “We want to see 
Mr. Cedarbrook. . . .” 

“Yes?” said the man. “Won’t you come in then?” 
And he led them the short distance to the gate, opened 


75 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

it for them to enter. Kitt stepped through, followed 
by Low Jinks and Sunny. 

“You see,” he explained, suppressing a grin of 
amusement. “I am Mr. Cedarbrook. And this is my 
house. What can I do for you?” 


76 


Chapter Nine 


PROFESSIONALS 


T hey always chose the library of Sunny’s house in 
which to work. This morning the daffodil yellow 
sunlight streaming across the wide floor added to the 
elation they felt over having landed the first Cedar- 
brook order. Really, it hadn’t been difficult. Kitt had 
shown some good photographs of the puppets, just 
as she had shown them in the past to sell her mario¬ 
nettes. Sunny had had clippings, two of them praising 
the Merida High School performance. Those had 
brought forth interest, if not an actual order at the 
time. Mr. Cedarbrook asked for a little time to think 
it over. And this morning’s mail had contained a 
letter to Kitt with their second real engagement of 
the summer. 

The library was perfect for their work. Lovely 
because of the view through open windows; budding 
trees, the wide lawn dotted with daffodils and alive 


77 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

with birdcalls; useful, too, because here small rugs 
could be kicked back, leaving a bare floor easily 
cleared of whatever litter of threads, snippets of cos¬ 
tumes or other debris was shed by the workers. The 
big leather chairs and couch offered no harbor for 
odd bits of fluff and leavings from a puppet; the wide 
overhang of the top bookshelf, above shoulder height, 
was just right to hold a marionette control, weighted 
with heavy books, while you tied strings and adjusted 
the balance of the puppet. Kitt was stringing to-day, 
Sunny trying out the poise of the little figures as they 
were made ready. 

“I think the new sailor would be better with the 
seat string farther down his spine,” suggested Sunny. 
“He won’t look quite so stiff and dignified.” 

The room was remote and quiet, the windows open 
to late afternoon and spring, with a robin calling rain 
somewhere in the maples down at the end of the 
lawn and the hushed purr of passing auto tires on 
the road below the garden. Kitt loved to bring her 
“knitting” here, as Sunny called her constant small 
jobs, for nowadays she never seemed to move, outside 
school, without a marionette under one arm or both. 
Now that Dad had only a part-time job, drafting for 
the architect’s office in which he used to be chief archi¬ 
tect before the business was taken over by a bank, the 
Newcomb house appeared always to be full of parents 
and business. 

Kitt threaded a heavy needle with black shoemaker’s 


PROFESSIONALS 

silk, double F, and picked up Sojo, a little black pick¬ 
aninny. She had finished making him into a doll 
yesterday. But he still had to be turned into a mario¬ 
nette and be given the power of expression and move¬ 
ment. With needle pointing downward she took a 
single, deep stitch behind his left ear, slipped the 
thread from the needle and knotted the free end of it. 
She stood up and measured the string to the top of 
the bookshelves which from experience the girls had 
found the exact height for the headstring, including 
the height of the bridge. Six inches were allowed for 
tying or altering, and Sojo dangled, leaded feet just 
touching the floor. 

She sat down and adjusted the string back of the 
right ear, to match. These strings would be knotted 
to the ends of the second crossbar of the control. 
Hand strings belonged on the shorter, front bar; the 
single seat string at the back end of the control. Knees 
or legs were on the extra, removable crosspiece which 
the right hand would manipulate. Sunny, who was 
more in need of practice than her partner, was still 
putting the new sailor through his paces. With the 
main control in her left hand, the knee piece in her 
right, and both hands moving simultaneously, she 
walked him across the floor. The right hand tilted 
the knee piece up and down, the left advancing the 
main control, turning it slightly from side to side. On 
the main control was a small peg on which the knee 
piece could be slipped if the manipulator wanted the 


79 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

puppet to stand or sit still and if she needed her own 
right hand free for other work. When the puppet had 
only to remain inactive, the control would be swiftly 
caught over a large wire hook above the stage and a 
brief occasional touch of the puppeteer’s hand on the 
strings would give the small actor a gesture of listen¬ 
ing or dissent. 

Mr. Fairweather must have been standing in the 
doorway for more than a minute when Kitt became 
aware of him and glanced up. 

“I suppose,” he remarked, “that’s one of those things 
that looks easy as pie, till you come to try it. By the 
way, how did the Cedarbrook contact work out? Any 
luck?” 

The sailor in Sunny’s hand gave a little gesture of 
bewilderment. “Well—” said Sunny, “we got a kind 
of trial engagement, which was pretty decent of him, 
after what we did to his hat.” 

“How do you mean?” asked Sunny’s father, sink¬ 
ing into one of the wide leather chairs and taking 
out his pipe. “Sat on it, or something?” 

“No.” Kitt jabbed a needle heartlessly into one of 
Sojo’s hands and tied a knot in the string. “Worse. 
Much worse! We almost demolished it before his very 
eyes. Low Jinks and I. And he stood there and just 
said, Thank you.’ ” Briefly she related the story. “Of 
course, we were trying so hard to be helpful. But 
Low Jinks wasn’t mascoting very well that day.” 


80 


PROFESSIONALS 

Mr. Fair weather didn’t seem to think it was so 
awful, in fact he stretched out in his chair and roared. 
But then it hadn’t been his hat. Nor was he financially 
concerned in the success of Kitt-Cat and Company. 

“He didn’t take a terrific chance,” Sunny explained, 
referring back to Mr. Cedarbrook. “He only gave us 
a trial performance at the nearest camp. And only 
that after a pretty stiff examination on puppets, their 
life history and pedigree, and how we happened to 
be in the business in the first place.” 

But Mr. Fairweather suggested that it probably 
wouldn’t be necessary for them to go through that 
every time they wanted to get an engagement; their 
past performances would speak for them. They’d soon 
get a reputation, and really ought to have a printed 
list of their program and where they had already 
played. 

Kitt’s eyes were wide with surprise. “We’ve only 
given one paid performance. And have one other 
besides this chance ahead.” 

But how, asked Sunny’s father, curiously persistent, 
had they really sold Mr. Cedarbrook on the idea? 

“We didn’t sell him.” Sunny, perched on the arm 
of the couch, idly dangled her puppet from its con¬ 
trol. “We showed him photos and two press clippings 
and gave him the Merida Junior High as reference, 
Mrs. Cutler specially, and I imagine he wrote along 
to them. Anyway, Kitt got a letter this morning with 
the good news. We wanted to charge him fifteen dol- 


81 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

lars for a performance, but he thought that was too 
much, so we’re to take twelve. That won’t be bad 
if we can get the whole five engagements.” 

Sunny’s father was head of a big insurance firm in 
town so it was natural that the financial side of their 
show should interest him. “Twelve dollars seems fair 
enough, and, if I were you, I’d keep your price down 
while you are still trying to build a clientele. You 
can put it up later when you have more to offer.” 
His tone was pleasantly respectful. “That would make 
seven engagements, with what you’ve had, wouldn’t 
it?” 

Kitt shuddered, thinking of six more nightmares 
like the Merida High. She wished that both Sunny 
and her father wouldn’t talk as though the Kitt-Cats 
were going into this in a big way. And even if they 
did keep these five or six engagements this summer, 
there’d be no chance of carrying on next year when 
Sunny was in college. She tied the last knot in So jo’s 
control and lifted it to guide him across the floor. 

“What does that gadget do?” asked Mr. Fairweather, 
getting out of his chair to watch more closely. 

Kitt demonstrated with the strings, showing how 
she tilted her hand this way and that, made So jo kneel, 
supplicate, dance, even turn a somersault. Then she 
pressed the controls into his somewhat reluctant hand. 

And to his obvious delight the puppet managed at 
least to walk. “You’ve got him well trained already,” 
said Mr. Fairweather. 


82 


PROFESSIONALS 


Sunny grinned. “Can’t we draft you into the Kitt- 
Cats, Dad?” 

“I couldn’t go on tour, and anyway I’m no actor, 
but—I’ve got an idea. Don’t you need a business man¬ 
ager and financial advisor, somebody with a resound¬ 
ing title and no hard work to do?” 

Sunny seemed delighted, but Kitt’s reaction was 
more dubious. Not, she explained, that she doubted 
Mr. Fairweather’s ability or interest, and it’d be grand 
to feel he was behind them, but again it seemed to her 
that they were putting the marionette show on too 
professional a basis. 

“Professional?” Surprisingly he picked up the word. 
“Well, why not professional?” Sunny, too, had em¬ 
phasized that word before. “You can have just as 
much fun with it, but it takes you out of the class of 
the half-baked amateurs, who don’t know whether 
they’re making money or losing it. Of course, I may 
be wrong. . . .” His eyes twinkled. “But I assume 
you’d both like to earn a little money. Sunny always 
runs through her allowance before the month is out, 
and I believe you’ve got some idea of helping with 
your college fees?” 

That was tactful of him. Mr. Fairweather must 
know that Kitt didn’t stand the ghost of a chance of 
getting to college unless she earned her own way. He 
was still talking, but for the moment she lost track 
of what he was saying while glorious, impossible vistas 
opened before her: all those wild dreams which she 

55 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

had so sternly put behind her since the failure of Dad’s 
office. Impossible no longer? Improbable, highly im¬ 
probable, of course, but . . . Anyway it would be 
better than sinking money into marionette after mario¬ 
nette. Instead of paying for her hobby, her hobby 
could pay for itself. 

Mr. Fairweather had gotten down to details. “I’d 
suggest you start a combined banking account, in the 
company name of the Kitt-Cats. I’ll prime the pump 
with the cash value of your stock in hand, if you want 
to be businesslike, and if you have the figures on that.” 

Kitt nodded emphatically. She had all those figures 
down in a little notebook: just what each puppet had 
cost from the very beginning; how much they had 
paid Bill for his materials for the stage; what Sunny 
had put out in license plates for Wallace’s car and in 
back drop materials, curtains and crayons. That part 
would be easy. 

“Good! You can repay me out of your profits at 
the end of the season. But you’ll have to have this 
small working capital. For instance, you’ll need a new 
tire, at least one, for the company car, unless you’re 
to risk missing an engagement.” 

Yes, and Bill had already wanted to fix new spot¬ 
lights and flood lights, with color effects, and now 
they had some money in the bank. . . . Seeing Sunny’s 
face aglow with similar inspiration Kitt checked her¬ 
self. They’d have to go slow if they were going to 
make enough out of the season to repay the debt! 

84 


PROFESSIONALS 


“You’ll want some printed letterheads and perhaps 
a little local advertising. But I suggest we call a busi¬ 
ness conference, get Bill into it, too, for amount and 
quality of supplies and see what you feel is indispen¬ 
sable. It’ll be good for Sunny, a little business training 
to counterbalance all this social fluff and ribbons.” 

Kitt knew that Sunny’s debut was not Mr. Fair- 
weather’s idea, but her mother’s. Not much danger, 
however, of Sunny’s becoming merely a social butter¬ 
fly; Kitt knew her partner perhaps a little better than 
did her partner’s parents. 

But . . . Collegel 

“How much,” asked Kitt, elbows on knees, chin in 
hands and going suddenly all practical, “do you sup¬ 
pose we could make out of this? If we were really 
professional about it, I mean.” 

Sunny’s father couldn’t say. Nobody, he said, could 
tell. It would all depend on how many dates they 
could pile up for the summer, and how businesslike 
they were about it. 

“Then that means,” said Kitt, “that we’ll have to go 
after engagements, instead of trying to dodge them the 
way I’ve been doing.” 

Sunny in the depths of a big chair chuckled in 
wicked satisfaction. “Exactly!” said she. 

It was a complete swing about for Kitt. “College” 
had done it. With a goal like that to work toward, 
what miracles she would perform in the way of rout¬ 
ing stage fright, conquering shyness, fighting her main 

55 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

enemies of pessimism and dismay! She felt all of a 
sudden that she could even go out alone and beard 
a wholly shadowy Mr. Cedarbrook in his office, de¬ 
mand as a right those other four engagements on the 
sheer strength of her determination and belief in her¬ 
self and the marionettes. But it did seem a lot to ask 
of Sunny’s father, that he believe in them so much 
and take so much work into his own hands. 

“Not at all,” he said firmly. “Actually I owe you 
two a large debt of gratitude.” 

Sunny looked blank. “For what, Dad?” 

“A friend in British Columbia once sent me a most 
generous gift. We kept it down here in the cellar 
until it began to haunt us. Then I had the bright idea 
of shipping it up to camp. But . . . ,” he looked very 
solemn, “for the past two years it has nearly wrecked 
my vacation there. There was always the danger that 
some one would discover it; people have such weird 
ideas as to what is food for human beings and what 
isn’t fit to be eaten. They might,” his voice dropped 
to an anxious whisper, “even open a can some night 
and serve it for dinner.” 

“Oh!” cried Kitt. “The salmon!” 

“It was such a relief,” Mr. Fairweather edged toward 
the doorway, “to know that you and my daughter 
were so appreciative of its value. I can only hope that 
this summer you’ll return and finish off the case.” 

“Dad!” Sunny was rising to follow him, a pillow 
in either hand, vengeance in her eyes. But the door 


86 


PROFESSIONALS 


closed swiftly and firmly. From the other side came 
a chuckle. 

“If you get hard up on the road this summer, be 
sure and let me know. I’ll have a supply shipped to 
you anywhere!” came his departing voice. 


Chapter Ten 


AT CEDARBROOK 


N ot Sunny’s high school graduation, not Kitt’s 
elevation into the rarefied atmosphere of a po¬ 
tential senior, not even Sunny’s entrance examinations 
for college, passed with all honors and the traditional 
flying colors, seemed as important this year as the crys¬ 
tallization of Kitt-Cat and Company. 

Long before July, Wallace’s car was equipped with 
one new tire and the old one on back for a spare, and 
Kitt was the proud owner of a driving license of her 
own, so that on tour she might take turns with Sunny 
at the wheel. By July, too, big brother Bill had finished 
his work on the car body. The windows at the back 
and sides were protected with frames of strong wood, 
the back seat had been removed and a wooden screen 
built on the floor. On this rested the sample cases, 
the long canvas case that held the proscenium tubes, a 
case of back drops and another of stage properties: 


88 


AT CEDARBROOK 

those doll-sized trunks, barrels, chairs and tables which, 
scaled to size, were the stage furniture for the com¬ 
pany of marionettes. Besides all these were the two 
suitcases, and on the wide front seat Kitt, Sunny and 
Low Jinks; in all, a formidable carload. 

Meanwhile their reputation had grown almost of its 
own accord and, even before they were ready to start 
on tour for the first Cedarbrook performance, there 
had been a promising letter or two, and, at the last, 
two engagements in one day, which had almost 
wrecked the company before it began. 

July fifth. A roasting fifth, worse even than the 
fourth had been. 

“I do wish you’d let me drive.” Kitt glanced anx¬ 
iously at the tired droop of Sunny’s mouth. “It’s a 
straight road, and I haven’t yet used my license,” she 
pleaded. 

Sunny managed a smile, but shook her head. “No, 
I’m all right, thanks.” But there was a deepening 
little frown between her eyes, and when the traffic 
light let them move once more she gave a sigh of 
relief. 

It wouldn’t be quite so bad when the motion of the 
car created a breeze, even though a hand on the door 
came away as though scorched, and the car seemed 
ready to burst into flame. Kitt was reproaching her¬ 
self for that second show, yesterday. The first, near 
Merida, had been for a charity lawn party, enthusiasti- 

5 9 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

cally instigated by the mother of one of their first 
audience. The same evening, and because the stage 
and arrangements were already in place, the girls 
had agreed to give a repeat performance, and at a 
reduced rate. It was thrilling to be able to meet so 
enthusiastic a demand. But it was that double per¬ 
formance that had been too much for Sunny. 

“Headache?” Kitt’s voice was sympathetic. 

“Splitting,” said Sunny briefly. “Darn! Why didn’t 
that prize idiot signal that he was going to turn in 
there!” She brought the car back with a jerk, swung 
out into her lane again and pressed on the gas. They 
shot ahead. “Five more miles, they said, then up a 
side road to the left. Got the letter there?” 

So much depended on this first Cedarbrook engage¬ 
ment. But with half the company down with a head¬ 
ache, Kitt felt far from hopeful. 

Ah, there was the sign! 

“Cedarbrook Lodge” indicated a double line of high, 
arched elms between which they approached an old 
farmhouse, white with blue shutters and pretty chintz 
curtains. Beyond and above it, along the pine-clad 
hillside, small cottages bunched like ducklings about 
their mother. Sunny brought the big car to a stop and 
let her hands drop from the wheel, her head fall back 
against the seat. 

“Whew! Well, that’s over. Can you carry on for a 

bit, honey ? I’ll be all right, once I’ve had a bath and 
a rest.” 


90 


AT CEDARBROOK 

At the door a pretty maid in green and white re¬ 
ceived the letter which Mr. Cedarbrook had given 
them for Mrs. Coles, the matron, and in a moment 
returned to conduct Kitt to the woman’s office. 

“Oh, yes.” A short, square person with pugnacious 
chin and an unwelcoming mouth glanced up, her eyes 
sharp behind spectacles. “You’re that puppet show, 
aren’t you P Sheer nonsense! The girls have plenty to 
amuse them.” Then grudgingly, “But it’s Mr. Cedar- 
brook’s affair, of course.” 

Kitt stood waiting, though her heart sank in fore¬ 
boding. The next announcement, however, was more 
cheerful. 

“Mr. Cedarbrook will be here this evening. You’re 
to give your performance . . . ,” she sniffed ungra¬ 
ciously, “in the main council and dining hall. The 
maid will show you.” And, as Kitt still did not move, 
added in reluctant tones, “I suppose you’ll want to see 
your room first. Our guest house is full, so many of 
the girls have just arrived and with their parents. But 
I can give you a small room, along the hall in this 

house.” 

“Oh. Thank you,” murmured Kitt, but was forced 
to add, “We’ve got a dog with us. Quite a small dog 
and very well behaved. ... I suppose he could sleep 
in the car.” 

The matron waved a hand of dismissal. “See that he 

doesn’t bark,” was her farewell. 

Now to get Sunny into a cool place where she could 


9 1 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

rest, and then to prepare the stage. Sunny had gone 
as far as the hallway, leaning against a table, her arms 
full of coats and scarfs, the table beside her littered 
with maps, their purses and oddments. As the maid 
come to show them their room, Sunny gathered up 
the lot and followed listlessly. Once inside she dumped 
her load on a convenient chair and flung herself full 
length on the bed. 

“Glory, what a day!” she murmured, dragging off 
her hat. “I’d give my back teeth for some tea, Kitten. 
Sorry to be such a complete flop.” 

When Kitt departed, Sunny was already half asleep 
in the cool room, her bright hair loosened over the 
pillow. Unpacked bags were still on the floor, the 
coats, just as she had tossed them, on the chair. 

The next thing was to look at the hall. It was long 
and spacious, and the acoustic qualities were good, but 
Kitt surveyed it despairingly. Down the full length 
of the low ceiling ran a heavy, decorative beam. If 
they used the high stage, which they must, and the 
bridge raised behind that, that beam would come just 
where one had to pass back and forth across the bridge, 
and the performance would be a continual dodging of 
the beastly thing. Oh, well, probably one couldn’t 
pick and choose in this business. 

“You’re the Kitt-Cats, aren’t you?” asked a cheery 
voice behind her. Kitt whirled. 

“I’m Arts and Crafts teacher here. Anything I can 


92 


AT CEDARBROOK 

do?” She was pretty and fluffy and blond, and she 
said her name was Mathews and that she’d love to 
be of some help. She produced a smock to cover her 
white dress; and she brought a handyman named 
Humphreys, who was strong and black and willing; 
and in a few minutes the car was unloaded and taken 
off to the garage. Jinks had found a temporary home 
in Miss Mathews’s little cottage; and life began to 
seem much brighter. 

But, oh, that beam! Kitt adjusted the bridge four 
times, trying to avoid it, then had to let architecture 
take its course. There was just no such thing as dodg¬ 
ing it, and the afternoon was getting on. Kitt, rehears¬ 
ing with Sunny, already knew the exact spot for every¬ 
thing and exactly how to set it up; the business of 
stage setting took an hour and a half, with an extra 
half hour allowed for fussing, putting up props for 
special scenes, seeing that each puppet costume was in 
order, that heads were tight on bodies, that strings 
hung straight and untwisted from wooden controls. 
But Miss Mathews, though willing, was unskilled, and 
to-day’s was a long hot task. 

For more than an hour Kitt forgot about her partner 
and concentrated on getting each tube pushed tightly 
into its socket, front curtains into place, masking cur¬ 
tain behind them. 

“Could we get some extra drapes for the sides?” she 
asked her assistant. “The hall is so wide that the audi¬ 
ence at the sides can see backstage.” 


93 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Would colored bedspreads do? The girls’ bed¬ 
spreads are all alike, of dark blue rep.” 

Kitt approved the idea and set Miss Mathews to pin 
these along the side rods, then to removing the mario¬ 
nettes from their slip cases. These she herself arranged 
on their hangers on each side the stage, in order of 
their appearance. As she plugged in the electric light 
and tested it, thinking how blazingly hot it would be 
to-night with the glare of the footlights thrown up 
in their faces, a gong sounded from the main house. 

“Dinner,” announced Miss Mathews. “You won’t 
want it here, with the whole crowd of chattering girls. 
Come along to my cabin.” 

Kitt explained about Sunny. “If she needs me, I’d 
better stay with her. Otherwise I’ll be over in a few 
minutes,” she said gratefully and, pausing only to 
scribble a Do Not Touch sign and pin it on the front 
curtain, she went off to the main house. On tiptoe 
she entered Sunny’s room, found her fast asleep and 
closed the door behind her. 

Mrs. Coles’s voice was raised in expostulation to one 
of the maids in the lower hallway. “Watch . . . We 
must find it,” was all Kitt heard. Certainly nothing 
that concerned herself or Sunny. But where were the 
maids to watch, she wondered. 

In an hour, when she returned. Sunny was awake. 
“Hi, Kitt! I’m ’most human again. How’s everything 
going?” 

“Everything’s grand. Think you can perform to- 


94 


AT CEDARBROOK 

night? Mr. Cedarbrook is to be here, I think. But 
you were lucky to miss the matron.” She tossed off 
shorthand notes of the afternoon’s impressions. “Seems 
to think we’re some new species of insect. And there’s 
a brute of a beam down through the center of the 
stage. You’ll have trouble with that, I’m afraid.” Kitt 
curled herself on the bed and idly watched Sunny 
dress. 

“You’re an untidy creature, aren’t you?” she re¬ 
marked. “You know, I never guessed that before I 
traveled with you. Oh, heavens, is it almost eight 
o’clock? Step on it, Sunny. We’re due on the stage 
in half an hour.” 

By now much of the performance was routine. 
Lights, music, puppets in order of their appearance; 
lines and characters all slipped into their respective 
places without hitch or effort. If it hadn’t been for 
the blazing heat . . . and that accursed beam. 

As the evening went on, and in spite of applause, 
spontaneous laughter and the obvious delight of their 
audience, the beam became a creature of almost human 
malignancy and ingenuity, dodging, so it seemed, half 
across the stage to catch Kitt with a warning tap on 
her hand, to buffet her not unlightly on the head, to 
knock from her fingers, already quivering with fa¬ 
tigue, the puppet in her hand. Kitt was trying to save 
Sunny as much as she could and so crowded her to 
her end of the bridge. But that, too, was inconven- 


95 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

ient; characters had less room to move; Joey caught 
his arm in the muslin back drop; Betsy Ross visibly 
objected to having her spinning wheel jammed into 
a wing. 

Kitt found herself trembling from combined weari¬ 
ness and the nerve strain of avoiding that apparently 
malevolent timber. It was almost with a feeling of 
satisfaction that she finally did knock her head a re¬ 
sounding whack. Well, the hateful thing had been 
pursuing her all evening, perhaps now it would leave 
her alone. 

There came a burst of more than the usual enthu¬ 
siastic applause from in front, a shout of laughter that 
could only be Mr. Cedarbrook’s hearty amusement. 
The final curtain. Kitt shook her fist at the beam. 
Thank heaven, that had done its worst and, in spite 
of it, the show had been a success; no doubt about 
that. The other engagements were theirs as soon as 
she could see Mr. Cedarbrook and book definite 
dates. 

Kitt was scanning the audience for him. Sunny, be¬ 
hind her, was going through a backstage display of 
the marionettes and how they worked from the bridge, 
when Kitt heard a sharp thump, a low exclamation, 
and whirled in time to see Sunny leaning, head in 
hand, limply against the bridge rail. Oh, that beam 
again! Kitt flew to her side. 

“Hurt yourself? Oh, Sunny! And with your head 
already so bad! Look here, you go off to bed. I’ll 

96 


AT CEDARBROOK 

just tie up the puppets for to-night and leave the rest 
till morning.” 

“Guess I’ll have to.” Sunny smiled wanly at the 
girls around her, mumbled an apology and, with 
Kitt’s anxious eyes upon her, disappeared through 
the door toward the main house. 

It was more than an hour until Kitt could get away, 
and then she left without her talk with the head of the 
camp. No matter. The Kitt-Cats had been a success, 
she had heard it over and over this evening, in too 
many ways to leave a trace of doubt. But a little thorn 
of anxiety still lingered, something foreboding, omi¬ 
nous. 

Kitt tried to shrug it away. Probably it was nothing 
more than the shadowy memory of that beastly beam, 
which had tried so hard to ruin the beginning of their 
professional career. Or was it the thought of Mrs. 
Coles that worried her? Something, she had said, that 
the maids were to watch? But the woman would be 
out of her way to-night. Thank goodness, Kitt con¬ 
gratulated herself, she would get to her room too late 
to meet the matron. As she turned out the light in the 
big hall, she checked off, thankfully, the last of the 
day’s bad luck. Nothing more could happen now. 
Jinks . . . Miss Mathews had taken care of him. The 
show was over and the beam foiled. Sunny, about 
whom she had worried, was safe in bed. 

Her gratitude was premature. A light still streamed 
from the living room. Mrs. Coles was there, talking to 


97 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Miss Mathews and, as Kitt passed the door, the matron 
called out: 

“Please come in Miss . . . Miss Newcomb. I want 
to speak with you.” 

Kitt was on the point of pleading the lateness of 
the hour and her own fatigue, but the woman’s tone 
was too peremptory for Kitt to disregard. She leaned 
against the door. Queer. That nice Miss Mathews 
looked as though she had been crying. 

Mrs. Coles went directly to the point. A valuable 
watch was missing, her own watch. She had been pass¬ 
ing through the hallway with it in her hand this morn¬ 
ing and, on answering the ’phone there, had laid it 
down. She forgot it, and when she returned for it a 
half-hour later the watch was gone. Since then the 
maids had been questioned. None of them had seen 
it, and in any case she knew and trusted her maids. 

“But the hall was quite open. Lots of people went 
in and out this morning: parents, girls . . .” Kitt was 
bewildered, uncomfortable, unhappy. And extremely 
weary. The woman’s sharp little eyes snapped behind 
her glasses. 

“We were aware of all that. I just thought I had 
better tell you . . .” her tone was full of sinister mean¬ 
ing, “in case you were in a hurry to get away in the 
morning, that the watch must be found before any one 
leaves this house.” 

Why how ridiculous! Who would want her old 
watch anyway! Kitt almost snorted at the threat. 


98 


AT CEDARBROOK 


“Thank you for telling me,” she said politely. “And 
now if you’ll excuse me I’ll go up to bed. I do hope 
you find your watch.” And only Miss Mathews an¬ 
swered her good night. 

The room was dim and silent, Sunny already 
asleep. Kitt tiptoed about, undressing without a light. 
Across the way some one was playing a phonograph, 
and flitting shadows of dancing girls moved softly 
across the window shade. Kitt looped back the cur¬ 
tains, slipped out of dress, shoes and stockings and 
stood for a moment enjoying the cool floor beneath her 
feet. If only she could have a shower! Better not, she 
might waken Sunny. Oh, dear, there were Sunny’s hat 
and coats just as she had bundled them out of the car. 

Kitt crossed the floor, picked up the garments and 
started to fold them. As she did so, something crashed 
on the boards. She stooped, fumbling around the legs 
of the chair, and her fingers touched an object round 
and hard and cool. A faint ticking met her ear. Sunny’s 
watch ? How did it get here ? Kitt moved to the win¬ 
dow, the coat over her arm, the watch in her hand. 

Not Sunny’s watch, small and square and simple, but 
a large affair, of gold, heavily engraved, set round with 
diamonds. 

Kitt gasped and an icy stream of horror seemed to 
chill her clear to her toes. How did that get here? 
For it was precisely the watch Mrs. Coles had just 
described! 


Chapter Eleven 


MORE STRINGS 


F or a moment too stunned to think, Kitt stood still 
with the watch in her hand. She was conscious of 
the chill floor beneath her bare feet, of Sunny’s breath¬ 
ing, of the wind rustling a curtain behind her. Foot¬ 
steps passed along the corridor, a door closed some¬ 
where, and belowstairs a light was turned out; steps 
crunched on the gravel path outside. Then she came 
to, sufficiently to reason. 

That must be Mrs. Coles going to her room for the 
night, Miss Mathews returning to her own cabin. 
Kitt gaped at the small object in her hand. Behind 
her, Sunny turned with a sigh and slept on, oblivious. 
It was pretty obvious what had happened; Sunny had 
come into the house with an armful of sweaters and 
coats and scarfs from the back of the car, had simply 
dropped them, all in a pile, on the hall table; then 


ioo 


MORE STRINGS 


later had gathered them up in the same disorderly 
fashion and brought them upstairs. The watch had 
been carried along in the folds. If Kitt hurried, she 
could take the beastly little thing right along to the 
matron’s room. Now. Immediately. Yes, that was the 
proper thing to do. 

Reason nudged her. Hurry up, it said sharply. 
Don’t be a little idiot. 

“Oh, shut up!” Kitt said to Reason, crossly. She was 
too weary to listen, too tired to face the unpleasant 
matron alone, with no backing of Sunny’s bright, un¬ 
worrying cheerfulness. In the morning, yes, with the 
sun streaming in, after a good night’s sleep, and with 
the support of her partner. Kitt giggled and thrust 
the ticking evidence into her bag. Let ’em find it, if 
they wanted to search the house. But according to all 
the best detective tales, wouldn’t they need a search 
warrant or something? 

She slid into bed beside Sunny and was asleep al¬ 
most before her head touched the pillow. Reason gave 
a baffled sigh and slunk away into a corner. 

Kitt awoke to find broad daylight, and a note stuck 
on the pillow beside her. 

“Cheerio, old bean! See you over the bacon and 
eggs!” 

Kitt sat up and shook the hair out of her eyes. So 
Sunny had dressed without waking her. Then with 
a bump she remembered the watch. Softly she got out 


101 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

of bed and, feeling like the Burglar’s Accomplice, 
crossed to the table and her purse. Yes, it was still 
there and still ticking. 

Now, in full daylight, she rather wished she had 
taken it to the matron last night. In any case the 
woman was pretty sure to be as disagreeable as possible. 
Kitt considered the matter as she combed out her curly 
brown tangle, dabbed on powder, slid her feet into 
blue socks and white gillies, slipped into a fresh blue- 
and-white gingham dress. There didn’t seem to be 
much chance of their getting the other four Cedar- 
brook Camp engagements now. Certainly Mrs. Coles 
wouldn’t recommend it. And as for Mr. Cedarbrook, 
if he ever really heard the truth of this matter, which 
seemed unlikely, no one could tell how he would react 
to it. He probably wouldn’t want to engage a mario¬ 
nette show with a . . . what did they call it . . . crimi¬ 
nal record? Did this mean the end of a promising 
Kitt-Cat season? 

Kitt was trying to laugh at herself about it; it had 
all been such a stupid bit of business. With anybody 
else except Mrs. Coles she wouldn’t have worried for 
an instant. A simple explanation would have been 
enough. Before she went out, she glanced round the 
room again. It showed evidence of Sunny’s cheerful 
carelessness: a scarf here, her coat and hat still on the 
table, the contents of her bag tumbled and tossed. 
Kitt returned to pick up a pair of pajamas from the 
floor, then closed the door behind her. 


102 


MORE STRINGS 


From the dining room below sounded Sunny’s high 
sweet voice. 

... so then he must have gone round to the 
kitchen. And cook felt so-o sorry for the poor little 
starved dog that she gave him a big plate of fish. The 
third victim was the maid. Jinks cast starving eyes in 
her direction, and she came across with a huge dish 
of oatmeal and milk. When I came down to break¬ 
fast he was looking so famished that I took pity on 
him and let him have half my breakfast bacon. In 
less than an hour he had done the vanishing trick 
with just four breakfasts!” 

A shout of laughter, masculine laughter. That, 
thought Kitt with a feeling of vast relief, would be 
Mr. Cedarbrook. She waited a moment outside the 
door, weighing the watch in her hand. To be apolo¬ 
getic would mean to be trodden underfoot by Mrs. 
Coles. Otherwise . . . Kitt felt a panic desire to re¬ 
turn on some pretext to the bedroom and leave the 
miserable timepiece there for Sunny to explain. Then, 
committing her cowardly self to a forward move¬ 
ment, she pushed open the dining room door and 
entered. 

“Did I hear some one say ‘vanishing trick’?” she 
began gaily. “Well, if any one in the audience will 
lend me a hat . . .” 

Mr. Cedarbrook had risen courteously from his seat 
at the table. “Let me see now ... a hat? I had a 
hat once . . .” 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

A chuckle from Sunny. Mrs. Coles glanced up with 
a close-lipped “Good morning.” 

“Well, lacking a hat—” Kitt wanted desperately to 
come to the point, to get through with this. “I will run 
the risk of my trick being detected. Presto . . .” She 
swung her arm dramatically above her head and let 
her closed fist descend to an inch above the table. “One 
gold watch set with countless diamonds.” Laying it 
in full view upon the table, she sank into her chair, 
and with difficulty resisted the desire to hide behind 
her napkin. 

But the trick had been turned; there had been no 
apology, no admission on which Mrs. Coles could hang 
her idiotic suspicions . . . Only Sunny looked blank: 

“What . . . where . . . how, Kitt? We don’t own 
any diamonds.” 

Kitt explained. It was easier, now that she had 
established the role of cheerful innocence, and she was 
telling Sunny, not the suspicious Mrs. Coles. “One of 
us must have picked it up with the things left on the 
hall table, when we came in yesterday.” 

“Gosh, that must have been me.” With no knowl¬ 
edge of Mrs. Coles’s murky suspicions, Sunny babbled 
on, “Lucky I didn’t drop it, I should have felt so 
guilty!” 

“Guilty?” Mrs. Coles’s fishlike eye glanced over her. 

But Mr. Cedarbrook, undoubtedly as relieved as 
Kitt, put back his head and shouted with laughter. 
Between gusts of mirth he gasped, “You two seem to 


MORE STRINGS 

have a remarkable . . . remarkable faculty ... ho 
. . . ho! ha, ha, ha! oh, dear! ... of finding things 
and returning them to their rightful owners!” 

And then and there, almost as though in challenge to 
Mrs. Coles’s indignant disapproval, Mr. Cedarbrook 
discussed dates and fees and clinched four more book¬ 
ings of the Kitt-Cat Marionettes. 


10 5 


Chapter Twelve 


A LOST LETTER 


T he cards were Kitt’s idea. Fifty of them, dark blue 
on pale green to match the Kitt-Cat Company’s 
curtains. They had made out a list of all camps, schools 
and summer hotels within possible driving distance, 
canvassed their friends with the list, and as a result 
struck off two thirds of these but starred a dozen 
special prospects. Then they consulted Mr. Fairweather. 
Was this sufficient reason to draw on the special Kitt- 
Cat fund? 

Yes, indeed,” he said. “You’d put it down as pub¬ 
licity; seed for a future harvest.” And he sent them 
with a note to his own company’s printer, who treated 
their small order with becoming gravity, brought out 
books of sample cards, and promised them the com¬ 
pleted product within two days. 

“Now, look, Sunny,” Kitt figured, “fifty cards to 
fifty people. At least four other people will see each 

106 


A LOST LETTER 


one—we’ll make it three. That makes two hundred 
people. And out of four hundred at very least, we 
ought to get fifty inquiries. Between now and school in 
the fall, with fifteen dollars an engagement . . 

“Here, here! It’s running away with you,” Sunny 
had scoffed. But seemed impressed nevertheless. 

The cards read: 

The Kitt-Cat Marionette Company of Lis\eard 
Presents Its Compliments 
And is prepared to ma\e engagements 
For the Months of July and August. 

repertoire: revues for banquets and dances, special 

ENTERTAINMENT FOR CAMPS AND JUVENILE AUDIENCES. 

Rates on Request. 

“Revues for Banquets and Dances”—Kitt had added 
that touch thinking it sounded sumptuous. 

And then two weeks passed. Without a nibble. 
Two long, precious weeks of the summer holidays with 
the car waiting in the garage, waiting to take them 
hither or it might be yon. And nothing at all happened. 

Kitt had been trying to put it all out of her mind. 
Maybe the expense had been unjustified. Maybe it had 
been a silly idea from the beginning, and her spirit 
sank lower and lower. But she couldn t leave mario¬ 
nettes completely alone. 

She was working on a new clown, a larger, jollier 

Joey, when Sunny came into the Newcomb living room 

* 

waving a letter. 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 


“Hi, Kitt! Hot, isn’t it? Like to hear some news?” 

Kitt frowned in concentration and took three pins 
out of her mouth. Deliberately she stuck them into the 
clown’s ruff. Oh, dear, that wasn’t right, either. 
She’d tried it this way, she’d tried it that, but the 
ruff slumped flat every time. Maybe the puppet was too 
fat, after all; she’d been trying a new pattern. 

“What say?” she mumbled uncomfortably around 
more pins. 

Sunny’s wide hat skimmed across toward the couch, 
which it missed, landing atop Low Jinks, who wrig¬ 
gled out from under it, very coy, tail at one end, laugh 
at the other, and waddled away through the door. 
Sunny folded her long legs by the window where there 
might be a breeze. 

“News, woman. I told you. Perhaps a date this 
time.” 

Kitt sat up with such a bounce she nearly swallowed 
the pins. “A date . . . oh!” Removing the pins she 
began again, “A date? Where? . . . When? . . . 
How soon?” 

Sunny held up a hand intended to impress, and 
began to read aloud, skipping the unimportant bits. 
Deuv Child . . . so glad to be able to arrange this for 
you .. . Seem delighted at the idea . . . told them 
how good you were ... be sure to let them \now im¬ 
mediately!’ 

Yes. But when . . . where?” interrupted Kitt. 

“All in good time. There’s a letter enclosed from the 

108 


A LOST LETTER 

people ’emselves. A hotel. On the lake somewhere.” 
Her hand waved the envelope. 

It must be really good news if Sunny could afford to 
be so aggravating. Kitt returned to measuring and 
basting the little clown’s ruff, but with one ear cocked 
eagerly. 

“Affectionately . . . Aunt Emma,” concluded Sunny. 
“And, dear little boys and little girls,” she said with 
a flourish and unfolded the enclosure, “it’s from . . .” 

“Jinks, Low Jinl{s!” Kitt’s squeal was of horror and 
dismay. “Put it down, sir! Down, I say!” 

Low Jinks waddled across the floor and placed a 
white kitten at her feet. His mouth was wide with 
dachshundish glee, his little black eyes snapped, 
“Please, Mistress Kitt, don’t you think I’m clever? 
I found it all by myself.” 

“O-o! Is it hurt?” Sunny, dropping the letter on the 
table, flew to pick up the small bundle of white fluff. 
But Low Jinks forestalled her. With an air of Pardon- 
me-madame, he gently grasped the neck of the un¬ 
protesting small cat and padded away with it, down 
the hall. The kitten on her part was not only unharmed 
but completely unconcerned over this unusual canine 
transport. How comical Jinks did look! Holding 
their sides with laughter, they followed. But where was 
he bound? 

Oh, yes, the kitchen. What? . . . Why? 

His own food bowl was in the corner by the door. 
The kitten, still unprotesting, was deposited firmly on 


log 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

its four minute legs and Jinks looked up with an ex¬ 
planatory tail wag. The kitten, he indicated, was no 
doubt famished. Here was the receptacle. Now fill it, 
please. 

With screams of delighted mirth they gave it cream 
from the ice box, and flopped on the floor to watch 
the small pink tongue lapping greedily. Kitt had just 
bestowed a pat of approval on the gallant Low Jinks, 
but was warning him, “You must, my noble hound, 
get rid of these base, retriever traits in your makeup,” 
when there came a peremptory thump at the screen 
door. Some one tugged it open. 

“They told me that an enormous black dog . . .” 
The voice was masculine, indignant and breathless; 
the hair red, the nose freckled, the shoulders broad, 
the brown eyes snapping with wrath. It was that 
“enormous black dog” however that tickled Kitt. 
Especially as at the precise moment the kitten chose 
to think Low Jinks had approached too closely to her 
cream and turned on him with a miniature hiss of 
warning. Low Jinks, being a little gentleman, dis¬ 
creetly retreated. 

Kitt’s gesture introduced them. “Your ‘huge black 
dog,’ Mister. His name is Low Jinks. I presume the 
gigantic and ferocious feline is your own.” Her dimple 
twinkled at him. 

“Oh, but say . . .” 

Red haired people blush so easily that Kitt was 
sorry for him. “You’re the new boy from next door? 


no 


A LOST LETTER 


Have a doughnut; I made ’em myself. And this is 
Miss Fairweather, known as Sunny Fairweather. I’m 
Kitt Newcomb, your new neighbor. I think refresh¬ 
ments are in order.” 

They trailed back to the living room, each with ice 
tinkling in a tall glass of lemonade, Kitt with the 
doughnuts, Peter French with his kitten. Low Jinks 
sank with a sigh onto the rug; the kitten, full of virtue 
and cream, began to take a bath on the hearth rug. 
The marionettes were introduced. 

A puppet show ? No, Peter had never seen one, but he 
certainly knew the Kitt-Cat Company by reputation. 

Sunny in the window seat bounced a tennis ball. 
Kitt, finishing her drink, set it down on the floor and 
picked up the clown again. She could sew while she 
talked. 

Peter was telling about a tennis match, to come off 
that afternoon between Merida and Liskeard. “I went 
to Merida High last term, was head of the tennis 
team last season. Now the crowd over here have asked 
me to play on the Liskeard team. Gosh, how I’d like to 
beat those Merida babies!” His red hair stood almost 
upright in his enthusiasm. 

One needed something to stiffen the ruff, thought 
Kitt, absently pleating it between her fingers. Per¬ 
haps a piece of paper. She rummaged in the waste 
basket, found a stiff bit, cut it to size, folded the 
material over it. Her quick needle flew in and out. 


hi 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“If you two could come and watch the match, and 
sort of ... er ... be mascots . . .” he suggested. 
Except for the boys whom he’d just met, and who’d in¬ 
vited him because they knew about his tennis, he hardly 
knew a soul in town. 

Sitting back to regard the small clown, Kitt s glance 
encountered Sunny’s. Of course, if they went to the 
match they could introduce Peter to every one. . . . 
Kit and Sunny had lived in Liskeard all their lives. 
Well, why not? Might be fun. He seemed like some 
one you’d want to know, and he was going to be a 
neighbor. Kitt’s nod was almost imperceptible except 

to Sunny. 

“We’d love it,” said Sunny. “Three o’clock, isn’t it ? 
On the park courts?” 

The kitten in his pocket stuck out a plaintive nose 
as he departed, and Low Jinks rose courteously to see 
them to the door. 

“Come round some time, old fellow,” invited 
Peter, “and share our kittiration.” 

“Oh, he’ll be round. But more probably to make off 
with a tennis shoe. He’s a retriever at heart, laughed 
Kitt. Yes, a nice person, this Peter French, quite an 
addition to Liskeard, she voted, once the front door 
had closed. 

Sunny nodded. What had they been doing when 
Jinks brought in the kitten? Oh, my heavens, yes! 
Aunt Emma’s letter. “Well, it’s this hotel somewhere 
and we’re to let them know right away. She says it’s 


112 


A LOST LETTER 


all in their letter to us. Now where did I put that?” 

It should have been on the table. It wasn’t. There 
was the envelope all right and Aunt Emma’s letter, but 
nothing else. Sunny shook the envelope a half dozen 
times, held it up to the light, shook the letter. Kit re¬ 
moved the cushions in the chairs, first those near the 
table, then all over the room. Together they trailed out 
into the kitchen where they had followed Low Jinks 
and the kitten. Together they explored the outside 
veranda, the steps, the path, in case it might have 
blown, somehow, through the open door. Together 
they trailed back into the living room. 

“Well, it was right here when Jinks came in.” 
Sunny flopped down on the floor to look under the 
couch. 

“Are you sure?” Kitt wondered aloud. “Maybe she 
didn’t put it in with the other letter after all.” 

“But I saw it, myself, with my own eyes,” reiterated 
Sunny, sitting up on her heels. “Didn’t you, Kitt?” 

Kitt thought a moment. No, she wasn’t sure. She’d 
been busy with the marionette, had scarcely glanced 
up. 

Now began a systematic search over every inch of the 
living room, more slowly hunting through the places 
where they thought it wasn’t, where it couldn’t possibly 
be. But still hunting. Rugs were shaken out, cushions 
dislodged from chairs. Sunny unfolded all the paper 
from the wastebasket, shook it out, page by page. Kitt 
got down on her knees to search beneath the bookcase, 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

poked into the fireplace, desperately stuck her curly 

head inside to peer up the chimney. 

Hand on brow, smutty of nose, she sat back on the 
rug and blew the long curl out of her eyes. “So there 
is something in witchcraft after all!” she murmured, 
ruffling her hair with a grimy paw. “That’s just been 
spirited away! Sunny, are you plumb sure . . . 

“If you say that again I’ll slay you with . . . with 
the waste basket,” threatened Sunny, who was now 
frantically scrabbling through it for the third time. “Do 
you suppose Peter French could have stuck it into his 
pocket with the kitten?” 

“Just as possible as anything else. But we’ve got to 
have that letter; we’ve simply got to. My goodness 
. . . suppose it was an actual order for an engagement! 
What’ll I do, run over and call him?” 

“Yes. Ask him to come help.” 

Kitt found the boy steering two men with a bureau 
up the stairs to the second floor and dragged him 
back, explaining as she went, “You see it’s really 
terribly important. We sent out cards to advertise the 
Kitt-Cat Company, the marionettes, you know. And 
this is the very first nibble we’ve had from them. 
It might be a real engagement.” 

“Oh, but it must be around somewhere, that paper.” 
He was nicely sympathetic. “Sure. I’ll find it for you.” 

Once more they went over the ground, every inch of 
it. The living room began to resemble the debris of 


A LOST LETTER 

an eighty-mile gale, Peter had turned out his pockets, 
even Low Jinks, seen racing across the lawn with some¬ 
thing suspiciously white in his mouth was chased, run 
to earth and found to be burying the object with in¬ 
credible speed and enthusiasm. But when Kitt’s hand 
explored the hole she brought out only a porcelain 
castor, lost from a piece of furniture. 

“I think that belongs to our highboy; a castor was 
missing.” 

Peter picked it up. “Mind if I see if it matches?” 

“If it does, Low Jinks may claim the highboy,” 
chuckled Kitt. “But if he’d bury that, he might have 
buried other things.” 

Hot and tired, by now lost to all reason, they began 
to dig in other place, any place where the loose earth 
on the wide lawn showed that Low Jinks, or possibly a 
squirrel, might have been at work. They found things, 
too—a handleless cup from the kitchen, four bones in 
assorted conditions, a buckle from one of Sunny’s shoes 
which she immediately pounced on with a squeal of 
recognition. And an ancient golf ball. But no sign 
of any letter. Low Jinks, panting with delight, lent 
every encouragement to the business of excavation. 

Oh, but it was hot! Too discouraged to drag her¬ 
self up the short flight to the veranda, Kitt, with a 
curl of brown hair over her eyes, flopped on the bottom 
step. Sunny patted the cushions of the swing. 

“Come up here, out of the sun, goofy, and we’ll do 
a little brain work on this.” 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

With Aunt Emma’s letter before them, they again 
went over the ground. But it gave simply no clue at 
all. Just mentioned the enclosure, that she had shown 
the little card to the head of the hotel, and he was 
quite enchanted at the idea, and wrote right away. 
And that was all. 

It certainly did sound like a real nibble, perhaps 
even a possible engagement. Kitt thought of college 
next fall, and of how their bank account had sunk, 
and of their plans for the summer which had seemed 

so deflated of late. Oh, dear! 

“You’re sure the letter really was in the envelope 
with the other?” began Peter, but at Sunny’s glare of 
wrath pretended to dodge. “All right. Don t hit me. 
But say—I’ve got to run. Lunch, and then this tennis 
match. You will come, won’t you, both of you?” 

Sure, they’d come. They watched him cross the lawn, 
his red head bobbing along beyond the hedge. 

Kitt had an idea. “Could we get hold of your Aunt 
by long distance, do you suppose?” 

Sunny thought that was worth trying, even though 
her letter had said that she was leaving town; and 
went in to ’phone. The long distance call could go 
down against the Kitt-Cats’ current expenses, ad¬ 
vanced by Mr. Fair weather, even though the debt was 
growing! But here again was no luck. The operator 
reported, “They do not an . . . swer.” And Sunny 
hung up slowly. 

“How about a telegram?” Kitt, leaning against the 


Il6 


A LOST LETTER 


wall, scratched the back of her ankle with the toe of 
a shoe. “She must have left some forwarding address.” 

Sunny thought not. That is, the post office would 
have it, but not the telegraph office. Every avenue ex¬ 
plored, there was apparently nothing left to do but 
write a letter, putting “Urgent, Please Forward” in the 
corner, opposite the special delivery stamp, and mailing 
it. Disconsolately they went off to dress for that 
tennis match. 


JI 7 


Chapter Thirteen 


LOW JINKS ACTS 


U nder the blazing sun three tennis courts in¬ 
vitingly extended their well rolled surface inside 
a cage of netting. The nets were up and some one was 
measuring the center band with a three-foot rod as 
Kitt and Sunny arrived. They were just in time to take 
advantage of the last seats on the three-tiered grand¬ 
stand of rough, weathered planking. Fans had actually 
brought car cushions and formed a ring on the grass 
around the enclosure. Obviously when Liskeard played 
Merida, grave issues were at stake. 

Kitt recognized half the senior and junior classes of 
both high schools, with a sprinkling of summer visitors, 
a number of parents and many of the older tennis 
fans from the country club crowd. Imagine being so 
busy with marionettes that she and Sunny had for¬ 
gotten that the match came to-day! Now the heroes 
themselves trailed across the lawn, in white ducks and 


LOW JINKS ACTS 

flannels, bright jerseys and sweaters, and were greeted 
by mild cheers and handclapping. “Hi, Slim . . . 
H’yere Chummy! . . . Tod! . . . Tod!” 

Peter’s blazing hair caught the attention of a snub¬ 
nosed girl on the front seat. Kitt heard her exclaim, 
“Why, there’s Pete French! You know he won our 
Merida doubles against Stapleton last year. Now he’s 
playing for Liskeard. Oh ... oh! That’s a pity!” 

Shedding sweat shirts and superfluous rackets they 
went on court, tossed for sides or service. Almost im¬ 
mediately the three separate battlefields were busy. 

The high, umpire seats were unoccupied for it was 
rather a pose, in these inter-village games, that there 
was enough sportsmanship to make an outside judge 
unnecessary, and the players kept their own scores. 
But it was hard for spectators to keep track of more 
than one game at a time, and some heated arguments 
took place. “Sure it was, out a mile!” “No, he got the 
last point, don’t you see!” 

Games ended, players crossed from side to side. 
Peter was playing a solid, steady game, just what you’d 
expect of him, giving away nothing, making his op¬ 
ponents work hard for every point they made. His 
partner, Ginty McKee, a lank lad with beaky nose 
and spectacles that glittered in the sun, was taking what 
Kitt considered too heavy chances. She had played with 
him and knew his habit of pulling off brilliant strokes 
and then mistiming easy ones. 

With elbows on knees, hat pulled down to shade her 

7/9 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

eyes, Kitt was pretending an intense interest. But 
only vaguely did she hear some one yell the tragic 
news: “Set all! Merida leading five-four!” For some¬ 
thing was nibbling at the back of her mind. Her 
memory, going round and round in circles nagged, 
“Did I look behind that chair, really ?—Couldn’t it 
have got lost in the cushions of the window seat?— 
I was sure Sunny looked there but may be she didn’t 
—Or would it be possible to trace Sunny’s Aunt by 
’phoning her friends ? . . .” Until suddenly her atten¬ 
tion was brought suddenly back to the farthest court. 

Peter had just pulled off a seeming impossibility, a 
recovery in which surely his nose had scraped the 
gravel, and he had followed up the stroke by opening 
his wide shoulders and killing his opponent’s lob. But 
after that he became cautious and he and Ginty lost 
the set. Then they recovered a little and somehow, be¬ 
fore Kitt’s mind slumped back to worry about the 
letter, they won a rather dull match. 

In the short pause between matches Peter rushed 
round for a snatch of talk. “Look here, I’ve been think¬ 
ing about that letter of yours . . .” 

“Oh, yes, Kitt as an idea,” said Sunny. “I’ve been 
wondering, too, if it might not—” 

Somebody shouted, “Merida third pair on court. 
They’re waiting for you, Liskeard.” And Peter had to 
dash off. 

“What was that idea of yours? . . .” asked Sunny. 


120 


LOW JINKS ACTS 

Kitt shook her head. It didn’t seem important at 
the moment. 

This time Peter and his long, thin, lugubrious part¬ 
ner were in the nearest court and everything they did 
was plainly visible. Their opponents, twins, were a 
deadly pair, seeming to have no gap in their defense, 
no weak point to be played upon. Together they ad¬ 
vanced to the attack, together, when they were lobbed, 
executed a well-ordered retreat, almost as one man 
with four arms and four legs and two rackets. 

Peter’s partner developed the brilliance of despair. 
But it was the boy with the red hair who covered the 
long one’s weaknesses, scraped seemingly hopeless 
shots off the stop-netting and dived swiftly back into 
position. 

Each point had to be earned at least ten times over. 
Yet, to their obvious surprise, Peter and Ginty took the 
first set, and crawled up, fighting for their lives, to a 
clear four-one in the second set. By then the other two 
matches had ended. And Liskeard had won them both. 
Home team and visitors had tied four-all and on the 
Peter-McKee combination hung all the hopes of Lis¬ 
keard. 

No one moved or spoke. Kitt’s eyes followed the ball, 
back and forth, back and forth; her fists were clinched 
tight, tight. Oh, Peter, you’ve got to win this! 

The two were slowing down now, playing with more 
caution, trying to hold their lead. 


121 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Oh, Peter, you can’t, you can’t play for safety like 
that! Don’t you see that’s just what they want? 

And they, those solemn, unruffled twins, were prof¬ 
iting. Not an error did they make, not a slip. This 
cautious poking play was pie for them. Mechanically 
the points piled up. The games piled up. The score 
stood four-all. 

At last, almost too late, Peter seemed to see. And 
seeing, changed his tactics. The sluggish, slow moving 
ball became suddenly alive, swift. Peter and the thin 
one forced the pace. Took a game. Lost two. Won 
another. They were winning points by the only way 
possible, outright scores. Long ago the sun had dropped 
behind the trees and there was a welcome coolness. 
But now the light was growing difficult. If some one 
didn’t win the set soon, if this constant see-sawing 
kept up, it would be too dark to finish the game to-day. 

Peter turned on the pressure still more. You could 
hear the balls hit harder on racket and court; you could 
see that both pairs were on the halfway line, trying 
to force their way to commanding position at the net. 
StnaciSmac\, and Peter had a game. Twang, twang, 
twang —it seemed impossible that those four swiftly 
moving figures could really be hitting a ball in the 
gathering gloom. 

And then the twins crumbled. The last set of the 
last match fell to Liskeard. Victory to Peter! 

Kitt let out a great breath which she must have been 
holding for some time. Whoof! She turned to face 


722 


LOW JINKS ACTS 

Sunny. But Sunny didn’t look round; she seemed 
to be watching something down by the edge of the 
net enclosure with an expression half horrified, half 
amused. 

Peter had shaken hands all around, was surrounded, 
with Ginty, by a wildly congratulatory crowd of Meri- 
ders and Liskeardites. But Kitt saw him raise his 
racket in salute and knew that he would come around 
through the door in the enclosure the minute he 
could break away. 

Sunny was giggling. Good gracious, at what? 

“There. Low Jinks!” She pointed. 

Low Jinks. And with something in his mouth. For 
half an instant Kitt’s mind returned to the letter. But 
it wasn’t that. Low Jinks had sought them out carry¬ 
ing, of all things, the clown marionette that Kitt had 
made that morning. It was scuffed as to face and 
form, and bedraggled, because the dog’s short legs had 
made him haul it over the ground. 

“Jinks!” Kitt was cross. Really this was too much! 

“Hi! Some mascots, you were! Gosh, that was a 
game!” Peter had pushed through the crowd. “I’m 
dead beat. Hope you weren’t too bored.” 

“It was thrilling. I loved it,” Sunny assured him. 
“But after this you won’t need any introduction in 
Liskeard. You’ll be the hero of the week. . . . What 
on earth’s the matter with Kitt?” she asked, anxiously. 

Kitt had picked up the clown puppet, was doubled 
over, almost hysterical with laughter. 




STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Come down, come down,” she cried, “and con¬ 
gratulate our houn’ dog! He’s found the letter!” 

“Where? . . . When? . . . How?” Both voices 
spoke together. 

Kitt spread it out—the torn ruff from the clown 
doll’s neck. Lining it was the piece of paper she had 
taken from the wastebasket, into which it must have 
blown. In the dim light they traced the words: “Hotel 
Merrimac ... if you will reach us by wire, collect, at 
once, and verify this date we shall be grateful. . . 

The date was two days off. So it had been a real en¬ 
gagement after all! 


* 


124 


1 


Chapter fourteen 


IMPROMPTU 


W hat I say is, when it rains, let it rain, but this 
here now lightnin’ don’t do no good to the 
crops!” shouted Kitt above the drumming of the storm 
on the car roof. Sunny, strange creature, with her 
riotous hair in tight little curls against her cheeks, 
was actually singing as she dodged mud puddles and 
struggled against the constant gusts of wind that shook 
the big car to its four wheels. She was singing and, of 
all things, a soprano version of “Rocked in the Cradle 
of the Deep”! 

Kitt, hating the lightning, shut her eyes tightly and 
tried to forget it. If only the constant thunder, almost 
ceaseless, wouldn’t draw her attention to the storm! 
Under no other conditions, she vowed to herself, could 
she have been induced to leave home and safety on such 
a day. Opening her eyes between flashes, Kitt drew 
inspiration from a paper pinned above the wind screen: 
a list of the Kitt-Cat engagements, starting with the 


725 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Merida High. Of course that hadn’t been necessary; 
it had been put down only to be crossed off as already 
dealt with, but it extended the list, made it more im¬ 
portant. Then, also crossed off, the two fourth of July 
dates and, after that, Cedarbrook i, also with a line 
through it. Next, Merrimac Hotel, this very after¬ 
noon, and with hopeful spaces between them which 
might be filled by other bookings, Cedarbrook 2, 3, 4 
and even 5, and High Trees Lodge, which was the en¬ 
gagement Sunny had booked for August seventh. It 
really began to look very imposing. If it weren’t for 
those gaps. 

Another gust of rain, another flash. Kitt shuddered 
and closed her eyes. But to-day was the Merrimac 
Hotel, the first nibble from their announcements, and 
too good a chance to lose, rain or no rain. Other camp 
owners around the hotel might be induced to attend, 
and anyway, now that the Kitt-Cats were real profes¬ 
sionals, they must make it a point always to keep their 
engagements. So this morning they had left in the 
pouring rain before their respective families had so 
much as finished breakfast. 

Kitt, opening her eyes, was conscious that the car 
had come to a halt. “Don’t tell me we’ve sprung a 
leak and are about to sink with all hands!” she ex¬ 
claimed. 

Sunny grinned damply and leaned close to Kitt’s ear. 
“We can stop here for ten minutes, if you’re too 
scared,” she said. “Anyway I can’t go on like this 


126 


IMPROMPTU 

much longer; it’s too hard to hold the car to the road.” 

Kitt opened her eyes, shut them again with a snap. 
“Ouch, that was a terror! Oh, de . . . ar!” 

You ought to sit indoors on a feather mattress with 
a cork between your teeth. I once had an aunt who did 
that! Hurray, theres a beauty!” 

Between momentarily blinding flashes the deserted 
country road showed, sheeted by rain, flowing full from 
gutter to gutter, and with the trees on either side 
creaking and straining in the wind. Low Jinks, 
cozily cushioned on Kitt’s lap, opened his eyes, stretched 
and yawned lustily, wriggled upright and gazed 
about. With paws on the back of the seat he thrust 
an eager nose among the bags at the back. 

“No food there, Jinks. Sorry,” Kitt told him. 

“It’s his G. Washington he wants,” said Sunny. For 
of late the little dachshund had conceived a loyal 
passion for the Washington marionette, so unremitting 
a devotion that Kitt had been forced to remove its uni¬ 
form and sword and make a new body for that char¬ 
acter in the revue, giving the old puppet to Low Jinks. 
With that he appeared to be content. Evidently it was 
the man, not the mere trappings of empty glory, that 
appealed to his doggish nature. 

Kit rescued the puppet from among the bags on the 
back where it had been thrust just as they were leaving 
home. With a woof of gratitude Jinks settled his chin 
on the limp body and closed his eyes happily again. 
Sunny glanced at her watch. 


12 7 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Think we might go on now? There hasn’t been a 
flash for five minutes and the storm seems a little 
better.” 

Kitt nodded and the engine started. They began to 
move slowly forward through the rain. 

But a moment later Sunny stopped the car again. 
“Could you open your window and look out?” she 
asked. “It pulls as though there’s a flat on your side.” 
With her hat off, Kit stuck her head out into the down¬ 
pour, but was unable to see over the mudguard. She 
had to throw a raincoat over her head and hop out, 
in order to verify the horrid suspicion. Yes, they had 
a flat, one of the very flattest flats she had ever en¬ 
countered, on the front right side. And the spare at 
the back, she reminded Sunny, has been left in Liskeard 
for repairs. She slammed the car door behind her. How 
cozy and dry it was inside! 

“Now what do we do?” she asked. “We’ve got to 
get there somehow. Oh, isn’t that a farmhouse, up 
that little lane?” 

Sunny thought it was, as well as they could see 
through the downpour. “Could you run up and ask if 
any one can mend a puncture? Farm boys can do most 
anything; they’ll probably charge us most of our profit 
on the performance,” she added gloomily. 

But repeated hammerings on the house door, as 
Kitt crouched beneath the sluicing eaves, brought no 
response. Her feet were soaking, a little more water 


128 


IMPROMPTU 

in her shoes wouldn’t matter. Under cover of the 
sheltering raincoat, she scuttled along the path to the 
back door. No need to knock there. Closed and 
broken shutters proclaimed that the house had long 
been vacant. With this depressing news she returned 
to the car. 

There was another attempt to run the car on the flat. 
Sunny took it a few yards, shook her head and stopped. 
“Can’t afford to wreck the tube while there’s a chance 
of getting it patched. There might not be another one 
the right size anywhere around here.” 

But Kitt, peering through the windscreen, had a 
gleam of hope. “I do believe that’s a filling station. 
Look . . . when the wind blows you can see those 
funny tall things; aren’t they pumps?” 

Well, it was no use sitting there. And two might 
prove more persuasive than one. Jinks, voting to be 
the third, was forbidden to bring along his George 
and flipped down the step behind them. A ridiculous 
procession charged across the open bit of road toward 
the wide door of the garage, dived swiftly into shelter, 
pulled up and shook itself. 

Greasy white overalls surmounted by a blue shirt and 
a shock of dark red hair leaned curiously out over a half 
door labeled, Office Positively No Smoking. Behind 
him was a wall of cigarette smoke, the blare of a radio. 

As Sunny started to explain, Red Head bawled into 
the room behind him, “Hi, Charley, come on out 
here! Lady wants a flat fixed.” 


729 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“But we haven’t any money,” Sunny cautioned. 
“You’ll have to trust us.” 

Ambling out behind the man-called-Charley was a 
fattish person with a scrubby beard and a brass collar 
button. Mournfully he shook his head. 

“Nope. Sorry, lady, can’t trust you. Been stung 
that way too often. Company’s orders.” And the man- 
called-Charley, with one glance at the sluicing rain, 
strongly backed him up. 

“But we’ll have money to-morrow morning. We’ll 
promise to come back this way and pay you . . .” be¬ 
gan Sunny anxiously. 

“Of course we will,” Kitt came to her support. 
“We’re giving a marionette show in Selby at the 
Merrimac Hotel this evening.” 

“Marionette, hey? What’s them?” The man-called- 
Charley showed some slight interest, but Brass Button 
continued his lugubrious head shaking. 

“Nope. No trust. Y’see that there sign?” A grimy 
thumb indicated it to them. 

“They’re puppets you know. Dolls worked on strings. 
Look here.” Kitt had an idea. “If I telephone in— 
we’ve got enough for the call—and get the hotel mana¬ 
ger on the wire, will you take his word for us? All 
our marionettes are in the car and we’ve just got to get 
there in time to give the show to-night.” 

Brass Button admitted that there’d be no harm in 
telephoning and the man-called-Charley relented even 
so far as to don an oilskin and dash out into the rain for 


IMPROMPTU 


their car. Red Head switched off the shouting radio to 
which the others seemed impervious. But there matters 
rested. Somebody’s secretary had answered the ’phone. 
Somebody’s secretary couldn’t, at the moment, reach 
the manager and she herself preferred the line of 
greatest caution.—Yes, a marionette show was expected. 
—No, she couldn’t say the names of those who 
were to give it.—No, she certainly couldn’t say that 
Kitt was the person.—Yes, she could repeat this to 
any one whom Miss Newcomb liked to call to the 
’phone. 

Brass Button took the receiver, learned only so much 
as Kitt had been told, and hung up doubtfully. 

If, he admitted, they could prove that they had this 
here now show, and he sorta thought there wasn’t 
liable to be two of ’em out on such a day, he’d be 
willing to gamble to the extent of fixin’ a flat tire, 
which, after all, wasn’t such an expensive sort of re¬ 
pair. 

The car came to a thunderous halt and stood drip¬ 
ping water from mudguards and running board while, 
at a nod from Brass Button, the man-called-Charley 
began to jack up the right front wheel. Kitt opened 
the back door and dragged out a case of marionettes. 
She threw up the lid and took out two of the pillow 
slip covers. These, on opening, disclosed Joey and 
Barnacle Bill. 

Brass Button, hands in pocket, was watching the 
proceeding, his own personal gamble, with interest. 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“But they ain’t nothin’ but dolls?” His tone was 
incredulous. 

Kitt shook her head. “No. Wait.” And she pulled 
out Joey’s control. She unwound the strings so that 
the little clown’s weighted feet touched the floor, then 
began to make him dance. 

“Hor — hor!” The strange noise was a guffaw from 
Red Head, who also had a protest to make. “Say, you 
mustn’t do that on this greasy floor. Wait’ll I get a 
tarpaulin or somethin’.” 

Kitt caught sight of the black painted half-door to 
the office, and had an inspiration. Stepping behind it, 
she closed the lower half and nodded to Red Head. 
“Put the tarpaulin down in front of this, will you?” 
The door would effectually conceal the black strings 
of the marionette. Climbing to a sturdy office chair, 
she let the little clown drop down before the door and 
put him through his dance for the entranced gaze of 
the three garage mechanics. No juvenile audience for 
which she had played had ever shown more flattering 
attention. Then she had a better idea: the repair of 
the tire might take a little time, why not give them a 
real show for their money ? 

“Sunny, bring the two sailors, and, Mister, could 
we have lights of some kind ? And a small box about 
the size of a shoe box? Yes, that will do.” 

“Run out a couple of cars, Red,” ordered Brass 
Button. “And turn on their head lamps.” 

Here, then, were footlights. Here was a stage, too, 


IMPROMPTU 


and props, and a makeshift bridge from another office 
chair. Under cover of the thunderous movement of 
the cars, Kitt turned on the radio, even a garage radio 
can be tuned down if need be, and she remembered 
that about this hour of a Saturday morning was some 
sort of mountaineer program with jiggley fiddler 
music. Sunny appeared with Barnacle Bill and Sammy. 
Hastily Kitt went into conference with her. 

Their audience of two, Red Head and Brass Button, 
had taken their place, seated on the bumpers of the 
cars. Over his shoulder Brass Button threw an order: 
“Get on with that there tire now, Charley.” Charley 
grunted and began to loosen the bolts, but with many 
stageward glances in the intervals. 

There was a burst of soft music behind them. 
Perched on their somewhat precarious bridge, the girls 
began the Barnacle Bill act. 

The tire of the car was old and came off without 
effort. The tire lever dropped with a clank to the 
garage floor. 

“Less noise there,” commanded Brass Button. “Want 
to get throwed out?” 

Charley grinned and wheeled the tire to what cor¬ 
responded to a fair seat on the aisle. 

“It’s a hard life, Sammy . . .” Sunny spoke for 
Barnacle Bill. “Every time you runs aground, you has 
to stop and mend a puncture. ’S wet work, too.” It 
was crude, of course, and very impromptu, but timely 
and got an easy laugh. 


*33 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Sammy, the red-headed puppet, it further developed 
in the backchat, wanted to go to sea. Barnacle Bill, 
wagging a dubious head, admonished from his seat on 
the nail box, “With a head o’ hair like yours there’s 
only one job they’d give you on board ship. And you 
wouldn’t like that.” 

“What job?” Sammy demanded, and in a frantic 
whisper Sunny demanded of Kitt, “Is it the port or 
starboard light that’s red?” 

“Port ... I think.” 

With a gesture of his puppet arms Barnacle Bill 
elucidated, “You’d have to hang, lashed to the rat¬ 
lines all night, as a port light!” And Bill went im¬ 
mediately into his hornpipe. 

Loud whoops of appreciation from the three-man¬ 
power audience. Brass Button slapped his knee fran¬ 
tically. “Hi, that’s one on you, Port Light!” 

The man-called-Charley joined in so heartily that 
Brass Button was obliged to remind him, “How ’bout 
that there tire you was fixin’ for the lady?” At which 
work was recommenced. 

A moment later there was an imperious summons 
from the office ’phone. Kitt glanced over her shoulder, 
but Brass Button ordered, “Don’t take no notice of that, 
Miss. It’ll only be a customer.” 

Having got her audience, Sunny had swung into the 
usual sketch, but with additional touches which gave 
it special appeal. Meanwhile, and in spite of his 
divided attention, the man-called-Charley had patched 


i34 



Bill went immediately into his hornpipe. 















































































































































































































































































IMPROMPTU 


the tube, replaced it in the cover and, lacking any fur¬ 
ther excuse to delay in his seat on the aisle, rolled the 
tire back to the car. 

“Better bring it to a close,” whispered Kitt to Sunny. 

They used the usual windup, and switched off the 
radio as a sign that the turn was over. Unwillingly the 
audience rose from their seats, but helped to pack the 
marionettes back in the car. 

“Want any gas?” asked Brass Button. “No? Well, 
I guess that cleans it up. Say, where did you say this 
show was going to be this afternoon?” 

Kitt, routing Low Jinks from where he was curled, 
with George as a cushion, on the driver’s seat, gave him 
the information. “We’re certainly grateful,” she added, 
“and we’ll be back to pay you as soon as we get our 
money.” 

“Needn’t hurry,” he said graciously, “though we’re 
always glad to see you. . . . Hi, Charley! This is your 
Sat’day on, ain’t it? Anyways there won’t be many 
along, a day like this.” 

“What you goin’ to do?” asked the suspicious 
Charley. 

Brass Button snorted briefly. “Oh, me and Red’s 
goin’ in to town. We’re goin’ to see the rest of this 
mary-an-ette show, I can tell you!” 

“Poor Charley!” murmured Kitt as they rolled out 
of the garage. Again en route for the Merrimac. 


*37 


Chapter Fifteen 


HELP FROM A STAR 


C amp, my eye!” snorted Kitt. Not even the lux¬ 
urious Merrimac Hotel, where they had given an 
unexciting but profitable show, had been a patch on this 
for sheer gorgeousness. She gazed about the huge room 
with its rug of soft, grass green, its lovely little twin 
beds carved in Spanish style, its glorious, four win¬ 
dowed view across the mountains, its complete little 
green tiled bath. “Camp, indeed! This is lapping up 
luxury.” 

Sunny swung from the window. “Bet you they used 
furniture polish on those horses that just passed, and 
that some one dusts off the canoes every morning be¬ 
fore breakfast. But then, my dear, this is a silk-lined 
nursery for subdebs.” Sunny spoke with feeling. It 
would be only by luck and the success of the Kitt- 
Cats that she herself could hope to escape such an 
atmosphere. 





HELP FROM A STAR 

What sort of evening would this turn into ? The en¬ 
gagement had been arranged for them, in a roundabout 
way through a friend of Sunny’s mother, who knew 
some one who had a sister whose niece had come to this 
camp two or maybe three years ago. There had been 
letters back and forth, a brief contract for an evening 
performance accompanied by the written suggestion 
that they travel over such and such a route, at such 
and such an hour of the Thursday of this week. 

Well, here they were. A maid had received them at 
the door, their bags had been efficiently swung off the 
dusty car, Low Jinks led away to kennels where, Kitt 
was assured, many of the young ladies kept their own 
pets; and their baggage, spirited ahead of them, ap¬ 
peared again unstrapped and all ready for unpacking 
on efficient little luggage stools, one at the foot of each 
decorative bed. But what their audience would be 
like, where their car, driven off by a young colored boy 
in trim uniform, had been taken, where they were to 
set up their stage, and at what hour the performance 
was to begin, were problems yet unsolved. 

Kitt didn’t like it. She preferred to work without 
blinders, to make her own decisions. Still it might be 
fun for a change. 

A tap at the door. The maid again, announcing, or 
was it commanding P—“Miss Anstruther will see you 
at your convenience in the Reception Room.” And 
waited. 


T 39 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“I s’pose our convenience’ means right now,” said 
Kitt. “C’mon, Sunny. I need a wash up, but that can 
wait. Let’s find out where and how and when the 
hired performers are to do their tricks.” And she 
tucked her hand into Sunny’s arm as they swung down 
the long hall behind their conductress. 

There were other buildings, but all connected by 
long, glass enclosed pergolas, now open to climbing 
roses and streaming sunshine, but equipped to be 
closed should the slightest breeze be stirring or a few 
clouds threaten the sun. Kitt snorted “Camp!” again, 
under her breath, but made no further comment. 

Miss Anstruther was little older than Sunny. She 
rose as they came in and, after a moment’s awkward 
pause, said, “Yes?” politely, with a rising inflection. 

Kitt felt a wicked desire to pull her errant forelock, 
and, curtsying, mumble, “Please, Miss, the Puppeteers.” 
But demurely she introduced Sunny and herself. 
“Miss Fairweather. And I’m Kitt Newcomb. Of the 
marionettes, you know.” 

“Oh—ah! Now what is it you call yourselves? The 
Kitt-Cats. Yes, of course. Well, I had thought you 
would want to know where you were to go, and the 
hour of the performance.” The tone was distinctly 
patronizing. 

A faint twinkle of amusement began to show in 
Sunny’s eyes. “By the way,” she interrupted in gentle 
reproof, “I don’t think I quite got your name. . . .” 


HELP FROM A STAR 

This produced “Elizabeth Anstruther,” and a slight 
confusion on the part of Miss Anstruther, as well as 
the offer of chairs. The interview began to move 
more smoothly. 

The marionettes, it seemed, were to be a sort of ice 
breaker to the dance immediately following the per¬ 
formance. Exact time limits were imposed. 

“The stage must be completely cleared for the or¬ 
chestra by nine forty-five. The dance begins at ten.” 

Sunny took all this with placidity and still with her 
amused little twinkle. But Kitt’s professional instincts 
were indignant. You could hardly explain to this 
haughty young person just how one felt about the 
Kitt-Cats; that they were too good to be just a prelude 
to anything at all; or even what a task it was to dis¬ 
mantle the show and pack away each separate puppet 
just as it would be needed for the next performance. 
Kitt’s chin went up. 

Sunny voiced a mild expostulation. “That’s going 
to cut our performance to an hour and a half. I’m 
afraid . . .” 

Miss Anstruther rose. “I’m afraid that will be neces¬ 
sary. The dance, you see, is in honor of Clement Hyde. 
We have his daughter here in the camp, and this is 
her birthday. He has asked that the dance be an 
early one, as he is leaving early in the morning.” 
Her voice dropped significantly. . . . “For Holly¬ 
wood.” 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

One gathered that the interview was over, the audi¬ 
ence dismissed. But Miss Anstruther turned in the 
doorway to add graciously, “You might perhaps like 
to come to the dance, yourselves.” 

“No, thank you.” Kitt’s refusal was firm. “We have 
another performance to-morrow.” 

Back in their room she asked, “Who the heck is this 
Hyde person, darling?” 

Sunny was laughing. “Sooch ignorance! He’s Holly¬ 
wood’s gift to a waiting world, my dear. But I think 
that he was once a really good actor. He can’t be 
at all young if he’s got a daughter here. Don’t tell me 
you’ve never seen him.” 

“Mmm . . .” Kitt was noncommittal. “Why high- 
hat us, and then give a dance specially for this Cali¬ 
fornia Don Juan? We’re all doing the same job, en¬ 
tertaining folks.” Kitt, who never did things by halves, 
was now professional to her backbone and finger tips. 
“But he sounds poisonous to me, I wouldn’t go to their 
old dance if they doubled the check. Only I hate to 
be treated as if I’d never owned an evening dress 
or put on high heels. Servants’ entrance sort of thing.” 
Suddenly she broke off, thought hard for a moment and 
produced the astounding suggestion, “Sunny! Let’s 
scram out of this place. I hate it.” 

At Sunny’s gasp of surprise Kitt pulled herself up, 
and blew back the lock over her forehead. “No-o. 

I don’t suppose we could . . . could we? Oh, well, 
let’s get it over with.” 


142 


HELP FROM A STAR 


Kitt had professed indifference to the famous Clem¬ 
ent Hyde, but an actor was an actor, and third cousin 
at least to their own profession. If it was the Clement 
Hyde, why there was little, outside his private life, 
not known about him. One hadn’t heard before that 
he had a daughter. One had heard of him as a romantic 
young star of the stage long before the talkie days. 
Not handsome, but distinguished looking. Very thin, 
very tall, with an unusual bang of now graying hair 
and long, eloquent hands, he was nowadays generally 
cast for character parts, Sherlock Holmes, gypsy chiefs, 
Hamlet, rather than the younger heroes of the screen. 

All during dinner the dining room was abuzz with 
his name. Stories, incidents which Kitt could swear 
had been told a hundred times as referring to the 
Barrymores, to Clark Gable or Leslie Howard, were 
to-night attributed to the guest of honor. And desir¬ 
ing the sugar, she heard herself asking to have the 
Clement Hyde passed, if you please! 

Sunny seemed less impressed by her surroundings; 
less impressed, too, by Clement Hyde. “Good heavens, 
Kitt, what does the man matter? Except that we’ve 
got to do a really polished, perfect show to-night.” 

That was another thought and rather shaking; dis¬ 
turbing also to Kitt’s equanimity was the bland assump¬ 
tion of superiority on the part of every one here. Sunny, 
of course, was better equipped to combat it, just as she 
had done with Miss Anstruther. During dinner she 
managed to arouse the greenest of green-eyed envy by 


*43 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

her gentle emphasis on the Kitt-Cats’ exciting inde¬ 
pendence, and her kindly sympathy for those less 
favored ones who were sent from home to summer 
camps and back to school again, with just no oppor¬ 
tunity at all for the thrilling, gypsy life of puppeteers 
along the road. She didn’t say this, she merely implied 
it all, which made it far more effective. Yes, Sunny was 
good at that sort of thing. 

Kitt wasn’t. She faced the evening’s performance 
irritated and at odds with her audience, and frankly 
anxious over the possible opinion of the great Clement 
Hyde concerning marionettes in general, the Kitt- 
Cats in particular. She tried to laugh it off. Pooh, 
that man! She tried to think. “What does it matter? 
He’s just one of a hundred. Maybe he isn’t even out 
there after all.” But strings tried to entagle themselves, 
controls worked stiffly; she dropped two puppets as 
she hung them into place, though not, thank good¬ 
ness, on the stage. 

Sunny with irritating proficiency swung immediately 
into a smooth performance. And when Kitt was busy 
on the bridge with one of her solo parts, she even 
found time to pack away such props and puppets as 
would not be needed again. 

But was Clement Hyde only one of the audience? 
He was the whole audience. Applause waited for the 
signal of his approving hands, and the curtain hadn’t 
been up five minutes before Kitt was acutely conscious 
of exactly where this guest of honor was seated, on 


144 


HELP FROM A STAR 

the center aisle. Heads turned toward that place al¬ 
most as often and as consistently as toward the stage; 
curious, adoring, fascinated eyes followed every move¬ 
ment of the tall gaunt figure in the correct evening 
dress. Nobody, with such rival interest on the other 
side of the footlights, could possibly give fair atten¬ 
tion to the stage. 

When the second act, Red Riding Hood and the 
Wolf, was completed, Kitt waited as usual for the 
burst of applause that always followed, waited in the 
chilling silence, puppets in hand, for Sunny to swing 
open the curtains again that the marionettes might 
take their customary curtain call. But nothing hap¬ 
pened. Second after second seemed like minutes, like 
hours, as she waited, her heart in her mouth and a 
control in either hand. What could have happened out 
there ? 

Sunny bent down to peer through the peep-hole in 
the curtain. She straightened up, grinned cheerfully. 
“S’ all right,” she began. 

Then it came. Such a heart warming burst as Kitt 
had seldom heard. The curtains swung open. Red 
Riding Hood and the Wolf bowed, and bowed again. 

“But what on earth?” Kitt asked, as the actors re¬ 
turned from their fifth encore. 

“Oh, our audience dropped his program and took 
a minute or two to find it. Nobody clapped till they 
saw what he was going to do next,” reported the 
amused Sunny. “Barnacle Bill now?” 


*45 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Kitt nodded, dumb with fury. 

And so it continued. Clement Hyde’s laugh led all 
the others, his long slim hands were the first to begin 
the applause, enthusiastic, generous applause. But Kitt 
felt she hated him, resenting him with an impotent, 
baffled dislike that grew with the finish of every act. 
Clement Hyde was stealing the show. Why did the 
rest of the audience bother to face themselves toward 
the stage at all? Why didn’t they just turn their 
seats to face their hero? Then they might drop their 
programs when he dropped his, shuffle whichever foot 
he happened to shuffle, sneeze or cough or blink as 
though they were attached by little strings to this screen 
idol of theirs. What if he did applaud the marionettes ? 
Kitt told herself she wasn’t one least bit grateful. 
She would have been glad to sacrifice every last ounce 
of his approval just to have the crowd act naturally, ap¬ 
plaud of their own accord and to be able to feel that 
they were sincere about it. 

Well, that was over. She slammed the final pup¬ 
pet into his rack, turned away from the final 
curtain. 

“How quick can we pack, do you think, and get 
out of here?” she demanded. 

Beyond the curtain there was the usual shuffle of 
pushed back chairs, the usual shuffle of feet, chorus 
of voices and laughter. But to-night, with the dance 
so soon to begin, nobody would want to see the pup- 

146 


HELP FROM A STAR 

pets work offstage, nobody would be up beside the 
curtain to watch Sunny pull the strings. 

Not long. Sunny gathered a bundle of marionettes 
over her arm. “I think we can put the trunks in that 
little side dressing room, don’t you? And get these 
curtains down and the stage dismantled in about fif¬ 
teen minutes. Then we’ll be out of the way of the 
orchestra and can take our time to pack the rest of the 
stuff.” 

“Got to have some one help to pull down the rods,” 
said Kitt. “How about that colored man that set ’em 
up for us? I ought to have told him to come back.” 
She shoved the second sample case into the dressing 
room. “If you’ll be folding curtains and back drops 
I’ll go look for him,” she said, and started. 

Sunny’s lifted voice behind her, “Hey, Kitten! Take 
off that awful smock.” 

Kitt’s chin tilted angrily. Indeed it wasn’t a pretty 
smock; it had been a long time since it was even clean. 
But for the moment it was Kitt’s flag of rebellion and 
signified the contempt of the worker for such drones 
and butterflies as flitted about, out front. 

She skirted the dance floor where, in little clumps of 
three and fours and half dozens, people stood about, 
waiting. Through a farther door dribbled a small 
parade of black-coated musicians with instruments un¬ 
der their arms. Kitt couldn’t resist a swift glance about 
her, but the famous Mr. Clement Hyde was nowhere 
in sight. 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

The man she wanted to have help with the curtain 
rods was squeezing through a door with three or¬ 
chestra chairs when Kitt caught him, cut him out and 
led him victoriously back to the stage. 

“Take this down for you and put it back in the 
case? Sure, Miss.” 

Kitt turned away and opened the door of the little 
room. 

For an instant she thought a party was going on. 
The room seemed so full of people. Then she saw 
there were really only three. Sunny, kneeling on the 
floor before an open sample case, had dropped her 
work to watch. The pretty girl with the cloud of 
fluffy fair hair, seated cross-legged on a table, had the 
puppet bear in her hands and had just paused in 
working the control to glance up as Kitt came in, 
but not, however at Kitt. 

Braced against a chair back was a man in evening 
dress, without his coat. He was thin, almost cadaverous, 
tall and distinguished with tired yet humorous eyes 
and sleek, iron-gray hair brushed down curiously over 
his forehead. At his feet Joey the clown was making 
tiny, pathetic gestures. Kitt closed the door softly be¬ 
hind her and, leaning against the wall, watched in 
silence. 

“Space and Eternity. Time immeasurable. Extent 
without a bound . . . !” The voice was soft and deep 
and tender, so that without quite knowing why, there 
were tears in one’s eyes and a clutch at one’s throat. 

148 



At his feet Joey the clown was making tiny pathetic gestures. 









































































































































HELP FROM A STAR 

How ridiculous! It was only the familiar Joey, cot¬ 
ton and Japanese crepe and papier mac he, lamenting, 
in the words of Gene O’Brian’s great tragedy and the 
voice of this shirt-sleeved stranger the death of his 
bride and the emptiness of life. 

Then the stranger handed the clown to Sunny and 
said in a pleasantly warm, everyday voice. “Thank 
you, Miss Fairweather. I just wanted to see if my 
old hands could still work the control.” And seeing 
Kitt, he added, “And I must thank you, Miss New¬ 
comb, for a particularly delightful performance.” 

Good gracious, this was Clement Hyde himself! 
Why, he was delightful, charming, incredible. And 
more than a bit of a genius. Everything that had been 
written or said about him was true. And he had come 
backstage just to speak with them, Sunny and Kitt, 
and to say thank you for the good time they . . . they, 
mind you! had given him. Kitt felt humbled and 
a little frightened and would have been completely 
tongue-tied if the man hadn’t been so pleasant, so much 
at ease even without his coat, which he must have 
removed in order to work the control more easily. 

“This is my Clementina.” He nodded toward the 
girl. 

Clementina Hyde looked up from the bear with a 
little frown of concentration, grinned across at Kitt 
and went back to wagging the bear’s head. “I’ll never 
be able to do it as you do, Daddy. But then my early 
education wasn’t as good as yours, I’m afraid.” 


149 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Mr. Hyde shook his head at her. “I started with a 
tenth-rate English road show when I was hardly higher 
than a cricket, a shabby pierrot show with marionettes 
between the acts. And that was nearly forty years 
ago. For two years the puppets were my best, almost 
my only, friends. So I couldn’t resist coming here to¬ 
night when I heard they were going to have mario¬ 
nettes.” 

So he’d come all the way from wherever he was, 
not to visit the camp, but to see them, the Kitt-Cats. 
Kitt thought of Miss Anstruther and chuckled in¬ 
wardly. So much for her airs! 

Beyond the closed door the sounds that had been 
instruments tuning up swung into a toe-tingling fox 
trot. Sunny went swiftly on with her packing and 
Kitt bent to lend a hand. 

“You’re going to this dance, both of you?” asked 
Clement Hyde. 

Kitt shook her head. 

“But you are,” he persisted. “Of course.” 

“Oh, we were invited all right.” Sunny looked up. 
“And we’ve each got an evening dress in our bags.” 

“Then, there’s no excuse, once we get these things 
out of the way. Look here, I can pack puppets with 
my eyes blindfolded.” And he began to demonstrate 
it. “You just tell me where each ones goes. Then 
you must rush into those pretty dresses. Who’s that 
at the door?” 


iso 


HELP FROM A STAR 

There was a burst of louder music as the man stuck 
in his head. “Stage is packed, Miss. That all?” 

Kitt said it was all, and that she’d find him later, 
thank you. The music dimmed again. Clement Hyde 
was talking as he worked, telling stories, while his 
swift long fingers deftly packed, of his early days on 
the road; of one-night stands through the hot South 
and the bleak Middle West in midwinter; of Cali¬ 
fornia towns where they played in barns, real barn¬ 
storming days, those were. Kitt’s packing grew slower 
and slower till he laughed and stopped. 

“But you’ll never get to the dance if you encourage 
me to go on yarning like this.” 

Another knock at the door. It was Miss Anstruther 
this time. 

“Oh, Mr. Hyde, and Clementina! Here you are. 
I’ve been looking all over . . .” Her glance changed 
from slight disapproval at the company he had chosen, 
to positive dismay over her idol’s unconventional dis¬ 
play of shirt sleeves. 

Kitt could have giggled at her expression. So 
shocked—so cross. 

“You can’t keep theater people from getting to¬ 
gether,” declared Mr. Hyde, brushing the dust off 
his knees and unconcernedly slipping into his coat. 
“Is that the last of the packing? Well then, suppose 
you run off and get ready for that waltz you’re keep¬ 
ing for me, Miss Fairweather. And Miss Newcomb 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

has promised me the first fox trot after she’s on the 
floor.” 

“But the committee, that is, the entertainment com¬ 
mittee thought . . . that is, they have partners chosen 
for you,” began Miss Anstruther worriedly. 

Mr. Hyde’s tactful little gesture brushed the com¬ 
mittee out of his way. “I’d be delighted. But the 
committee must know plenty of young men. They 
can bring them up and introduce them to my pro¬ 
fessional friends here.” His gesture widened to in¬ 
clude Kitt and Sunny. 

Miss Anstruther’s exit registered dignified disap¬ 
probation. So now she’d added Clement Hyde to her 
disapproval list which had already contained the Kitt- 
Cats. Mr. Hyde, her well-stiffened back seemed to 
say, had a strange choice of friends. Kitt caught the 
amusement in Sunny’s eyes and barely repressed a 
giggle. 

The evening was a vast success and it was after 
midnight when they crawled into the decorative little 
beds. But such an evening! With the honor guest to 
smooth the way, always on the watch to see that they 
met the right young men, that they had the best part¬ 
ners in the room, and were not without the conspicu¬ 
ous attentions of Clement Hyde himself . . . who 
wouldn’t have felt it the most thrilling experience of 
one’s summer? Kitt shuddered to think how close 
she had come to walking out on all this. But it was 


HELP FROM A STAR 


Kitt, next morning, who was so unkind as to sug¬ 
gest to Sunny: 

“If it hadn’t been for Clement Hyde, do you think 
we would have received this?” 

“This” was a formal little note which had arrived 
with their dainty breakfast tray. It expressed the 
camp’s pleasure at the visit of the Kitt-Cats and con¬ 
cluded, “We should be so pleased if you would set 
a date for a return engagement, later in the summer. 
We suggest the twenty-eighth of August.” 

“The twenty-eighth ?” Sunny looked up with a frown 
of concentration. “Wh-y-y. I’m afraid that’s taken. 
It’s the . . .” 

“Hurray!” cheered Kitt unexpectedly. “I’d just hate 
to have to prevaricate to ’em.” College fund or not, 
she was glad they wouldn’t return here this season. 
But it looked like a good prospect for next year. 

Even more unexpected vvas what happened at their 
departure, an hour later. 

Sunny, still in low gear, had to pull out for a gor¬ 
geous limousine sailing up the wide driveway. Just 
to her left was one of the pergolas leading from the 
open door of another building, and at that same 
moment a man carrying a large suitcase dashed out 
of the entrance waving at a car. At their car? Yes, 
he was! 

Sunny braked and waited. Here came the famous 
Clement Hyde, complete with hand luggage and an 
air of mystery. Cautioning silence with an upraised 


J 53 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

hand, throwing over his shoulder an amusing glance 
of mock apprehension, he thrust his bag into the car 
beside the astonished Low Jinks and slithered his 
long leanness in next to Kitt. The car gathered speed. 

A face, two, three, a whole crowd of surprised and 
bewildered countenances, lined the long pergola; 
Clementina Hyde’s, more twinkly than astonished, 
was among them. 

“D’you mind?” asked the famous Clement Hyde. 
“Troupin’, you know ... so much more fun than 
all that sort of thing.” With a backward glance he 
raised his hat as the car slipped out of the drive into 
the open road. “Pfff” he breathed a long sigh of re¬ 
lief. “Glad that’s over!” 

Kitt would have been surprised to know how much 
her expression reflected his. 


*54 


Chapter Sixteen 


THE FAIR 


G ot a pencil Sunny?” Kitt gazed upward at that 
satisfying consultation list above the windscreen. 
It was always fun to cross off the filled engagements, 
the final touch of accomplishment. A pencil, joggling 
to the movement of the car, reached up and marked 
out, “Hotel Merrimac, Cedarbrook Camp Number 
Three,” and the “High Trees Lodge.” They had just 
come from there. She’d have to wait till the car 
stopped to put in two new dates for the future. There 
was another hotel, the St. George, a nibble which had 
followed one of the advertising cards. Kitt thought 
she could land that with the help of some photographs 
and a personal letter telling where they had played. 
Another was a summer school on Lake Champlain, 
for librarians. She was pretty sure of that and it 
would be a good build-up for the future. 

“Oh, looky! A Punch and Judy show!” Sunny’s 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

sudden foot on the brake almost rammed Kitt’s nose 
against the windscreen. Straightening herself and 
her hat Kitt sat up to look. 

A long streamer, green and red on a gay orange 
ground stretched from side to side of the village 
street. In letters two feet high it modestly announced 
that Barrington County’s Famous Fair was now on, 
August the seventeenth to the twenty-seventh, inclu¬ 
sive. Various smaller and less violent proclamations 
pointed the way. But it was one of these that Kitt 
was regarding, a mere whisper of a sign, telling you 
that Pettijohn’s Punch and Judy gave a performance 
at three on Wednesdays and Saturdays. 

“To-day is Wednesday,” Kitt reminded Sunny. 

Sunny grinned. “Okay by me. We may pick up a 
few ideas. And the fair should be kind of fun, too.” 

Following the pointers, the big car swung up a 
bumpy cinder side street to one corner of the village. 
Here, in a huge lot that bordered on woods and 
country, again were tents and more tents, hot dog 
and doughnut stands, barbecue counters, a pleasant 
smell of horses, the sound of sheep and catde, booths 
displaying everything from cakes and jams and jel¬ 
lies to farm produce, crochet work and patchwork 
quilts. And a tiny stall for the Punch and Judy. 

Around at the back Kitt found an open space where 
cars were parked; she hopped out, locked the door and 
invited Low Jinks to come along. The two girls el¬ 
bowed their way, past barkers and horse traders, 

1 56 


THE FAIR 


paused by an auction sale of Japanese “art.” . . . 
You needed at least four pairs of eyes here to get even 
a general impression of the varied busy stalls, the mov¬ 
ing, changing crowd. . . . 

“Where did we see that Punch and Judy?” 

“When do we eat?” The questions overlapped. 

“There’s plenty of places to eat, but let’s get one we 
can sit down in. I could eat a long, long time. S’pose 
we ask the girl at the Punch and Judy.—Two tickets, 
please. And where can we find . . .” 

She was a pretty girl, with big worried gray eyes 
and frizzy light brown hair beneath her wide straw 
hat. The tickets were a quarter each, and the show 
would be given right here, at three o’clock. The best 
place to eat was Ye Waffle Shoppe, down there beyond 
the doughnut stand. And would you tell them that 
Helen Pettijohn sent you, please? 

The Shoppe was bright and clean, smelling of good 
coffee and bacon, and nearly deserted at this late 
hour. Kitt duplicated Sunny’s order, asked for a saucer 
of water for Jinks and, resting her elbows on the 
table, yawned and glanced out at the sky. “You may 
have to take over from here, Sunny. Looks as though 
it were getting ready to pour and I can’t hold the car 
to a wet road. I wonder,” she added idly, “what 
they do with the Punch and Judy show when it rains.” 

“Fold up and flit, I guess. I’ve never seen one; have 
you ? Must be quite different to handle from the mario¬ 
nettes.” 


I 57 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

The sky had darkened rapidly, and they were fin¬ 
ishing their second helping of waffles by electric light 
when the door flew open and Helen Pettijohn of the 
gray eyes crossed to the telephone booth in the cor¬ 
ner. They heard her nickel clink into the slot, heard 
her give a number crisply, couldn’t help eavesdrop¬ 
ping on what followed. 

“That you, Sam? Listen, dear, it’s going to pour 
here. . . . Well, I can’t help that, it’s going to here 
all right. ... Yes, he said I could have it for fifteen 
dollars and a share of the receipts, but he wants the 
fifteen in advance. . . . But I haven’t got it, I tell 
you. . . . Well, can’t you hurry, because I’ll have to 
change the signs about the grounds and all, and it’s 
only forty-five minutes before we open the show. . . .” 

She hung up and smiled vaguely at the girls as she 
passed the table. “Lunch good?” she asked, but one 
could see that she hardly heard their answer. The door 
closed behind her. 

“Rotten luck, this rain,” said Kitt, full of sympathy 
for a fellow professional. “Suppose we wait here for 
a while, shall we, till the worst is over?” 

For a few moments they considered letting the 
Punch and Judy get along without their attendance, 
to race the storm home. Merida was only ten or twelve 
miles away, Liskeard fifteen beyond that. . . . 

“Oh, we’ve done a good two days’ work. They 
won’t be expecting us back before dinner,” was 
Sunny’s lazy suggestion. “We owe ourselves a little 

158 


THE FAIR 


fun.” So they sat on, watching the clouds hurl up be¬ 
hind tent tops, frantic shopkeepers rush to cover all 
before the oncoming storm, farmers scurry to shelter 
their stock, a group of boy scouts, herded by a scout¬ 
master, struggle to bring forth slickers from bulging 
knapsacks. 

“Ginty McKee,” murmured Kitt, sucking on a lump 
of sugar from the bowl before her. 

“Who? Oh, yes, the scoutmaster. So it is. I didn’t 
know he . . . But what about our getting back to the 
car before we get marooned here, we forgot to pack 
a boat . . .” began Sunny when the Pettijohn girl hur¬ 
ried in again. This time she wore a raincoat and an 
expression still more worried than before. She was 
almost running as she passed them on her way to the 
’phone booth, and her voice was sharp with anxiety. 

“That you, Mother? . . . Sam started? . . . Well, 
Mother, he’ll be too late . . . Oh, gosh, what’ll I do 
now? ... I cant get that tent without the money, 
and I’ve got only seven dollars here . . . Oh, all right, 
but that’s too late, I tell you . . .” 

Kitt’s eyes met Sunny’s across the little table. They 
seemed to come to an agreement about something, 
for, when Kitt spoke to the Punch and Judy girl a 
moment later, her partner raised no objection. 

“Can’t we lend you the money you need ?” was what 
she asked. 

The girl, rushing by, stopped—almost with her 
mouth open. 


'59 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Wha . . . at?” she asked, stupidly, then sank into 
the chair that Sunny pushed toward her. “Lend me 
the mo . . she began. 

“We couldn’t help overhearing,” explained Sunny. 
“Not having anything to listen to but each other, and 
we listen to each other all day long,” she continued, 
brightly insulting. “We’ve had two pretty successful 
days, so we thought we might help you out. At least 
until your . . .” 

“Brother. Sam,” interjected the girl. 

“Till your brother shows up.” 

“Go on,” begged the girl, relaxing into her chair, 
“you interest me strangely. But what’s it mean to 
your 

“Oh, we bought tickets for your show,” explained 
Kitt, and giggled. “No, but honestly—we have a mar¬ 
ionette show ourselves. And we’d neither of us ever 
seen a Punch and Judy, so we stopped off here just 
for that.” 

“Come along then and talk to the man with the 
tent. But he means business. And this is my first day 
to give the show, so it’s business to me, too.” Helen 
was hurrying them out of Ye Waffle Shoppe, along the 
lane of flapping, bustling booth keepers, talking as she 
ran, shouting above the wind and the rush. “It’s Dad’s 
Punch and Judy, one he brought over from England 
years ago. It’s a good one, too. Sam was coming on 
at three o’clock to help me work it. But the seats were 
all outdoors and we can’t give it there, in the rain. 


THE FAIR 


And we’d sold so many tickets I really do think we 
could fill the tent. . . . Here we are, Mr. Dart.” 

Mr. Dart grunted. A short, fattish man in rusty 
brown town clothes, a perpetual chewed cigar and 
a scowl, he was tacking up a sign in front of his 
patched and weather-stained tent. The sign displayed 
information regarding Maestro Cassidy, World’s Great¬ 
est Conjuror. 

Miss Pettijohn began to explain that she now had 
the money for the tent. Should she bring along her 
placard? And could he send some one to help her 
move the little stage, please, because it was too heavy 
for her alone. 

Mr. Dart, with not even a polite interest, continued 
to nail up his sign. 

Kitt took out the money from her purse. “Get a 
receipt,” she whispered to the girl. “And have him 
put his agreement in writing, whatever it was.” She 
didn’t like that little man. Fat men should be cheer¬ 
ful, not grouchy. 

“We ought to get the placards up soon,” insisted 
Helen to the apparently deaf Mr. Dart. “As long as 
possible before the show. But if you haven’t got any 
one to help with the stage, my brother will be along 
presently.” 

“Needn’t bother.” Around his cigar, Mr. Dart broke 
his vow of silence. “Won’t need your sign.” His 
hammer indicated the one he had just completed tack¬ 
ing in place. “Got me a tenant for the tent while you 

161 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

was hesitatin’. Pays more’n you could. Thought I’d 
better.” And settling the battered derby on his grizzled 
head, he opened the tent flap and slid within. The 
girls were left standing before the blank tent wall. 

“But . . . but he promised began the Pettijohn 

girl feebly. 

“Promised nothin’.” The head reappeared through 
the opening. “There . . . he jerked a thumb toward 
the sign, “Maestro Cassidy,—payin’ me twenty. And 
shares o’ course. Like to raise him?” His glance, hope¬ 
ful, lingered on Kitt and Sunny. 

Kitt whirled on her heel. “I should say not ” she 
declared firmly. “Come on, girls, there’re lots of other 
tents in this fair.” 

“H’ain’t none.” The disembodied voice, blown by 
the wind, followed them as they scuttled away. 

“And now what?” was Sunny’s demand. 

A scurry of raindrops as big as silver dollars sent 
them huddling to the temporary shelter of a booth 
side. There they paused to take counsel. 

“I’m afraid he’s right,” said the brown-haired girl, 
almost in tears. “Oh, dear, we did so much want to 
give this! We do need the money. And I’ve taken in 
seven dollars in tickets; and lots of others said they’d 
come back and buy. . . . Good gracious!” She paused, 
startled out of her wail. “What on earth’s the matter 
with your friend?” 

For Kitt, screeching like a banshee, to be heard even 
above the flapping of canvas, the rush of wind, had 


762 


THE FAIR 


made a dive half the length of the fairgrounds. “Peter! 
Hey, there, Feterl” 

The boy who turned at her summons had a head 
of red hair of no retiring hue, a flaunting banner of 
carroty locks, the face beneath it wreathed in a wide 
smile of welcome. 

“Well, well, if it isn’t half my little mascots!” he 
heralded Kitt, whose reply was inaudible at this dis¬ 
tance. But she had buttonholed him, was bringing 
him back in triumph. 

“Look what I found! French—Pettijohn,” she mum¬ 
bled hurriedly, in haste to be on more important af¬ 
fairs. “Listen, Peter, we’re in a hole.” And she tore 
into her story, stating the case of Helen as though it 
had been hers and Sunny’s own, of which fact by this 
time she was quite convinced. Ten minutes, and 
the Punch and Judy had become one of the Kitt- 
Cat Marionette Company. “You’re a bright lad; 
ary ideas?” she ended breathlessly, with flushed 
cheeks. 

Peter nodded briefly. “Sure. If we can get it fixed 
in time. Let’s see, now. . . .” His glance roved the 
grounds. “Where would Uncle Kermit be at this 
hour?” He glanced at his wrist watch. “Twenty-five 
to three. Probably down by the cattle show.” And 
herding them along through gusts of wind and slight 
spatters of the hesitating storm, he explained, He s 
a real uncle, and he rents half these grounds to the 
fair every year. That’s how I happen to be here, sort 

163 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

of an overseer job. He’ll be sure to have a solution, 
if we can find him.” 

“It’s all in knowing the right people,” murmured 
Kitt complacently, pausing to pick up Low Jinks and 
tuck him beneath her arm. 

Uncle Kermit was quite easy to find. He towered, 
big and brown and dependable looking, one of a group 
around an enormous white pig which had just been 
awarded a blue ribbon and which looked as though 
he were a drawing out of a child’s story book, all done 
with one circle of the pencil, or like an honored an¬ 
cestor of the celluloid three little pigs. 

Approached by Peter with the tale of the iniquities 
of one tent owner, named Dart, Uncle Kermit shook 
his head . . . “That Hamus Dart!” he grumbled, as 
though he knew him of old. “A place for your Punch 
and Judy? . . . Let—me—see.” And Kitt had a pleas¬ 
ant feeling that now everything was going to be all 
right. 

And it was! Uncle Kermit had a huge dairy barn 
not yet finished, but with electric lights installed. The 
upper part to be used for hay, for the separators and 
farm machinery and, entered directly from the road, 
would exactly fit their needs. There were a few work¬ 
man’s trestles there; perhaps a platform could be made 
of these, with boards laid across; there was a whole 
stack of planking— “But at three o’clock . . .” he 
glanced dubiously at his watch. 

“We shan’t need a platform for the Punch and 

164 


THE FAIR 


Judy,” Kitt pointed out. “Just some one to carry it 
over there for us. And before the rain really starts.” 

“Good.” Nodding briskly, he waved them away 
with an absent gesture, his mind already back on 
points and breeds and whatever it is that dairy farmers 
think of. “Show them where it is, Peter.” He trailed 
away. 

The barn proved to be perfect. Spacious and spot¬ 
less, on the edge of the fairground, with a whole bat¬ 
tery of bright lights to flash on as the sky darkened 
and darkened. 

“Peter, you’re a darling,” declared Sunny, gazing 
about the huge empty room as she struggled to re¬ 
place half a dozen slipping hairpins. “But he didn’t 
say anything about what price he’d charge us to rent 
all this magnificence.” 

“Rent it? He’s giving it. Though if you have a 
good audience I’d donate something, say, to the Dogs’ 
Hospital. That’s his favorite charity.” 

“Please,” Helen meekly put forth a claim, “I know 
you’re handling this beautifully. But how are we 
going to let people know that the show is here? I 
mean . . .” 

Yes, they saw. And nobody had a suggestion till 
Kitt let out, like another explosion, her own idea: 

“Ginty!” 

What on earth was a Ginty? begged Miss Pettijohn’s 
expressive gray eyes. 

165 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Ginty was a boy scout leader. He and his little 
darlings had, Kitty explained, been seen diving into 
slickers some twenty minutes ago, out in front of Ye 
Waffle Shoppe. Ginty should be informed, his aid 
commandeered, and boy scouts should herald the glad 
tidings to every corner, nook and cranny of the fair¬ 
grounds. “Oyez, oyez, oyez! Let it be known that 
a Punch and Judy show, of extreme and superior ex¬ 
cellence will, this afternoon, rain or shine and prefer¬ 
ably the former, be shown in the new dairy barn of 
and so on and so on . . .” Kitt reeled it off at random. 
“And them as won’t come to see the Punch will come 
to get an eyeful of Uncle Kermit’s new barn, or I’m 
no farmer’s lass.” 

She was no farmer’s lass, but she was right. Ginty’s 
scouts, bored with pork and beef on the hoof, pounced 
with shouts of glee on this unexpected opportunity 
to loosen and demonstrate their lung capacity. Within 
ten minutes of Kitt’s bright idea, the fairgrounds be¬ 
gan to echo to sounds as of hog callers in full cry. And 
so successful were they that Peter and Sunny, scurry¬ 
ing across the grounds with the Punch and Judy box 
between them, Helen following close with props, be¬ 
gan to run into a swarm of people, all hurtling toward 
the barn, pouring in as though the threatening thunder 
and flashes of lightning behind them were herding 
them forward. 

Swirling in before the wind, Jinks at her heels, both 


166 


THE FAIR 


raincoats over her arm, Kitt found Helen gazing about 
her and, astonishingly, almost in tears. 

“But this place is huge!” she wailed. “Your Ginty 
Whatsisname said he’d take tickets at the door and 
he’s sold nineteen dollars and fifty cents worth al¬ 
ready and we can’t ever hope to make all these people 
hear a Punch and Judy show in such a big place. 
All without pause for breath. 

Kitt gaped in consternation. The girl was right, 
Punch was for a small audience. Accustomed to the 
full-sized houses for the marionettes, that hadnt oc¬ 
curred to her. 

Peter, close behind her, had a solution. Blandly he 
proffered it. “But you’ve got the marionettes here, 
haven’t you? Why not bring those in, instead?” 

He hadn’t, of course, heard the beginning of this 
Helen-Sunny-Kitt combination; didn’t know that the 
girls had offered only their financial support. Of 
course they couldn t do that start to help Miss Petti- 
john with her show, then steal it out from under her, 

like that! 


Chapter Seventeen 


PUNCH AND JUDY 


M arionettes? Oh, yes, you told me that you had 
a puppet show,” said Helen Pettijohn. “Are 
they here in your car? Well, that seems a grand idea. 
And would you let me work one, maybe? I’ve made 
them myself . . 

“But, wait, wait. We can’t possibly get them ready 
in time. . . .” 

“Why not?” was Sunny’s suggestion. “Let the audi¬ 
ence see us set up the stage. Kitt can make an an¬ 
nouncement about it. Most people love to see anything 
behind the scenes, and anyway it’s pouring so now that 
nobody can hear the marionettes until the storm clears 
a little. They’ll be glad of something to look at.” 

“And of something to do,” suggested Helen. “How 
about telling the first comers to rig themselves seats 
with the planks and trestles? Then those at the back 
will see better.” 

“Smart gal!” Kitt reached up to pat the crown of 


168 


PUNCH AND JUDY 

Helen’s hat. “It’s five past three now. I’d better tell 
’em what to expect.” 

The audience, glad to be out of the rain, applauded 
warmly. Eagerly, with rustling of damp slickers, the 
scuff of feet on the new boards, they craned and ex¬ 
claimed, absorbing every last detail of the stage ar¬ 
rangements; the putting together of the metal rods 
that formed the little platform and proscenium; the 
placing of sample cases which, later, formed the bridge 
along which the puppeteers moved, the unrolling of 
curtains; the hanging of marionettes in place in the 
wings to await their cues. As the girls worked, Kitt 
and Sunny kept up a running comment of explana¬ 
tion, directed Peter and Helen, both new at this game, 
to hang curtains, connect light plugs, switch on the 
phonograph, select records. It was useful business, 
especially as much of their action needed no explana¬ 
tion to the audience. During part of the unpacking, 
the storm roared so loudly overhead and beat so heav¬ 
ily on the slates that the girls could scarcely hear each 
other’s voices; the marionettes would have been 
drowned in the tumult. 

Ginty McGee had just appeared with the surprising 
sum of forty-five dollars and seventy-five cents, taken 
in at the improvised box office, and Kitt, feeling the 
usual warm glow of happiness at the first faint ap¬ 
plause, the stir of excitement as she switched on the 
footlight, turned quickly. Over her shoulder sounded 
a voice, unpleasantly familiar. 

In the door at the back was the tent owner, bran- 

769 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

dishing a half open umbrella, rain dripping from bat¬ 
tered hat brim and wilting mustache. 

“If ye go on, ye’ll be sorry. I’m warnin’ ye . . .” he 
repeated. “Ye ain’t got no right . . .” 

There was a rattle of rings as Sunny swung open 
the curtain. Peter uttered a violent “Sh . . . shush!” 
And every particle of Kitt’s attention was instantly 
claimed by the marionettes in her hand. 

Always afterward she felt that this performance 
was one of their very best. Perhaps it was the height¬ 
ened effect of drama caused by the impromptu rush 
with which they had assembled it, perhaps it was the 
passing storm outside and the almost cozy dryness in 
the huge, strange theater, or maybe because they were 
playing, she and Sunny, almost as much for their audi¬ 
ence behind the scenes as for the people out front, for 
the Kitt-Cat marionettes were new to both Peter and 
Helen. But the Pettijohn girl knew puppets; she was 
already accustomed to the type of control, and she 
could be trusted on the bridge to hold a marionette 
in place so long as it had no motions to make beyond 
the little gestures of aliveness and listening. This gave 
both Kitt and Sunny a brief breathing space at odd 
moments to continue with unpacking and hanging 
the puppets for the last three scenes, as Helen took 
over from first one, then the other. 

“She’ll make a puppeteer,” Kitt murmured in pass¬ 
ing. 

Sunny nodded, a little absent frown between her 


IJO 


PUNCH AND JUDY 

brows. “What do you suppose that . . . that man 
meant? Saying we’d be sorry?” she whispered anx¬ 
iously. 

Kitt didn’t know. It was threatening and unpleas¬ 
ant. Still, she didn’t see what he could do. Later, 
while the curtains were closed between scenes and she 
was putting a record on the machine, she asked 
Peter, “Could he make trouble for us, do you 
think?” 

“Who? Dart? Don’t imagine he’ll try any rough 
stuff. He’d be too afraid of Uncle Kermit here. Just 
being disagreeable, I guess.” But he glanced toward 
the door through which the unpleasant little man had 
gone and when Kitt looked round a moment later, 
Peter, too, had vanished. Probably gone after him. 
She felt vaguely relieved. 

The show unwound its usual swift course. The 
Clown announcer, the Bear juggler, G. Washington 
and Betsy Ross, Sojo, the Persian dancer, Barnacle 
Bill and Sammy; and Kitt had just raised the curtain 
on Red Riding Hood when again she heard Dart’s 
voice. She was conscious that he had some one with 
him, but she could not listen to him and keep in mind 
all the intricacy of stage business. Helen was answer¬ 
ing him, then in a moment Sunny, as she was released 

from the bridge. 

. . thirty-five dollars,” he declared. “The other 
ten ye can keep.” 

Thirty-five dollars ? But that was only ten less than 

1 7 * 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

the box office receipts. Why, he must have overheard 
Ginty’s report on that sum! 

A moment later, with the scene ended, Kitt stepped 
down. “What’s the matter?” she asked in an angry 
whisper. “You really must keep quiet back here. Your 
voices can be heard out front.” 

Dart’s friend was a smooth, dark little man in a 
suit the hue of overdone gingerbread. His small black 
eyes, like twin raisins, were too close to a large blob 
of a nose that might have melted when he was popped 
into the oven. Some kind of lawyer, Kitt gathered. 

“. . . otherwise my client,” he was saying, “will feel 
that it is his duty to lay information against you for 
violating the rules that govern the fair. That would 
mean a fine of a hundred dollars. . . .” 

“Apiece,” interjected Dart with irritating relish. 

“Boloney!” snorted Sunny, brushing him aside. Kitt 
could have giggled if she hadn’t been so worried. 
With just such high-handed unconcern, though in 
more elegant language, did Sunny’s mother dismiss 
some petty household annoyance. “Go on, Kitt. We 
can’t keep the audience waiting. Where’s the wolf?” 

“Boloney? Young lady, you’ll soon find out . . 
Kitt heard the lawyer begin as she took her place, 
ready for the curtain to open. 

“. . . No license,” Dart was continuing. 

“But they have. That is, we . . . we’re only giving 
this as part of the Punch and Judy show.” Poor Helen. 
Well, it was hard on her, because she lived here; this 


PUNCH AND JUDY 

was her job and she had to go on with it to-morrow 
and the next day and the day after that. Kitt brought 
Red Riding Hood to the cottage door, swung back 
the curtains again while Sunny whisked on the interior 
back drop of the cottage scene. 

“Yer license,” Dart was shaking a soiled finger un¬ 
der Helen’s nose, “calls for an open air performance. 
A man kin leave his tent door open and call it open 
air.” He glanced overhead at the rafters. “But ye can’t 
call this open air. He . . . he!” 

“Less noise, please!” warned Sunny, haughtily, 
over her shoulder. The voices dropped to a lower 
pitch. 

At that he was probably right, thought Kitt with a 
flutter of panic. She had seen enough of theaters and 
entertainment halls by now to know that a permit to 
give entertainment for money needs the endorsement 
of both fire and sanitary departments. 

“So . . . thirty-five dollars,” reiterated the persist¬ 
ent Mr. Dart. 

“. . . the better to eat you with, my dear!” snarled 
Kitt’s marionette wolf. 

The play finished with a flourish, Wicked Wolf was 
caught in his own trap, Red Riding Hood and her 
Grandmother happily reunited. 

Kitt swung round on the bridge. “Where does this 
hold-up stuff come in?” she demanded angrily. 

“Now, now,” the lawyer’s voice was unctuously con¬ 
ciliatory. “My client will be satisfied with justice. You 


m 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

may pay your bills here, but we must insist that you 
make no profit. His own entertainer, Cassidy, will 
have to be compensated for the customers youve 
tempted away.” Well, it was nice to think the mario¬ 
nettes had spoiled their tent show. “And the remain¬ 
der, of course,” with a glance toward Dart, “he will 

award to a worthy charity.” 

“Sure, sure,” approved the client hurriedly. It was 
pretty obvious who would receive the charity. 

Sunny was busy out front, displaying the puppets. 
Helen had collapsed, speechless and noncombative on 
a packing case. If only Peter would come back! If 
only Ginty ... no, no, that wouldn’t do, for Ginty 
had the cash with him. Oh, dear, what did one do 
now? 

Hurray, here was somebody! Kitt could have hugged 
Peter’s carroty topknot and freckled face. Behind him 
loomed the dependable broad shoulders of Uncle Ker- 
mit. He seemed to have an idea of the situation. 

“These friends of yours, Miss?” he asked. Kitt’s 
denial was definite and vigorous. 

“Then,” Uncle Kermit turned on the two intruders, 
“what you doing, trespassing in my barn, Hamus 
Dart?” 

“Now, now.” Merkill was rubbing his hands, 
smoothing the air with little patting gestures. “We’re 
just part of the audience.” 

“Then where’s your tickets? . . . Huh, thought 
as much by your looks. Then you’ll pay right now.” 


PUNCH AND JUDY 

And Uncle Kermit regarded the money suspiciously 
as though disappointed that it wasn’t lead slugs. 

Merkill’s voice was raised in protest. “I’m here on 
behalf of my client.” 

“You are, hey? Got a license to practice in this 
state?” 

Now that was clever! Kitt blew back the lock above 
her eyes and cocked her head sideways. It took a man 
to think of things like that. For the little gingery law¬ 
yer had begun to droop, seemed anxious to take cover 
behind Mr. Dart. The tent owner started to explain, 
but Peter’s uncle cut it short. 

“Permit? Don’t need a permit for a charity per¬ 
formance like this. Benefit of the Dogs’ Hospital.’ 
Uncle Kermit winked at Kitt and was obviously en¬ 
joying himself. “And now the show’s over and you ve 
had your quarter’s worth you’d best get going. If I 
see your faces much longer, I might get it into my 
mind to drop round to the courthouse. They’d be in¬ 
terested in a man who practices law without a license 
and another who demands money by threats.” 

That sent the two hurrying toward the door, with 
Uncle Kermit’s mild voice behind them. “Don’t know 
as mebbe I won’t anyway. Town needs money and 
a hundred dollars in fines would come right handy.” 

Helen Pettijohn had miraculously returned to life. 
“I don’t know how to thank you, Uncle . . . er . . . 
Mr. . . .’’ 

“ ‘Uncle Kermit’ don’t sound so bad when you say 


J 75 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

it, young lady.” He shook her hand gravely. And 
it’s the Dogs’ Hospital that has to thank you and these 
other two. For five dollars, say?” 

“Ten!” amended Helen. 

“Ten it is then.” You could see that Uncle Kermit 
was pleased. 

Helen wanted to pay Ginty’s scouts, too, but Ginty 
explained that scouts can’t take money, and anyway 
they’d had a fine time. Uncle Kermit led off the co¬ 
horts for doughnuts and milk, and Helen was thrust¬ 
ing bills and handfuls of change at Kitt and Sunny. 

“Sorry. Can’t be done!” Sunny was firm. “We were 
just pinch-hitting for the Pettijohn show. Besides, we 
had a good engagement yesterday and the day before; 
we’re just rolling in wealth.” And Kitt joined her in 
smothering Helen’s grateful protests. 

With Peter, Ginty, and a group of milky mouthed 
scouts intent on piling up their credit score, they 
stowed stage, props and puppets in record time. All 
except Betsy Ross. Kitt dangled her by her strings, 
as though weighing something in her mind. A mo¬ 
ment she whispered to Sunny, and Sunny, good girl, 
nodded emphatic agreement. 

“Look here, Helen,” Kitt started, then appealed to 
her partner. 

“What she’s trying to say is that she wants the 
Pettijohn Punch and Judy to adopt Betsy Ross, as a 
souvenir of the occasion.” Sunny explained. 

“Oh . . . oh . . . oh!” Helen’s little squeal of de- 

ij6 


PUNCH AND JUDY 

light was worth more than formal thanks. “Do you 
really mean it? Can you really spare her?” 

She was still admiring Betsy when Peter and Ginty 
carted out the last box, and the girls prepared to fol¬ 
low. At last, with the marionette beneath her arm, 
Helen followed Kitt and Sunny to their car. 

“It’ll be dull going back to my old Punch and }udy 
after seeing your show to-day,” she said with dancing 
eyes as Sunny started the engine. “I’ve heard a lot 
about the Kitt-Cat Marionettes but I’m sure that even 
they can’t be any better than yours.” 

“No. ... Oh, no.” Kitt had looked blank for an 
instant. “They’re not any better,” she laughed. “You 
see, we generally are the Kitt-Cat Marionettes! 


777 


Chapter Eighteen 


STRANDED 


L ife, these days seemed to be spent either behind a 
masking curtain, or hurrying from some place 
to some other place in the big car. Sleep and meals 
must have happened, of course, but there seemed al¬ 
ways to be details of the next engagement, improve¬ 
ments on the last performance, to be discussed over 
the hasty sandwiches and milk, or else elaborate 
lunches and dinners with various officers of the camps, 
more nerve-racking even than the performances them¬ 
selves but on which future engagements might depend. 
Sleep, for the most part, had been mere blessed obliv¬ 
ion, and that hardly counted. 

Financial success, too. “Where did you put the 
check from the last Cedarbrook place?” Kitt asked. 

“It’s safe in the back. In Red Riding Hood’s basket.” 
Sunny, like a wise driver, kept her eyes on the road. 
“I thought it would be better not to cash it at the 

ij8 


STRANDED 

camp, but the garage man took twenty-five for that 
damaged axle and ball-race. Anyway, if I lose my 
purse or meet a pickpocket, the check is safe. How 
about lunch?” 

That was reassuring, though it might have better, 
thought the cautious Kitt, to have sent the check home 
by registered mail, as smaller sums had gone. Money 
itself still seemed like an unhoped-for prize, rather 
than the earnings they worked for and earned. It was 
difficult to believe they had had this string of successes 
but there was Mr. Fairweather’s monthly financial 
report to prove it. And, of course, Kitt’s consultation 
list, as Sunny called it, just above eye level in the car. 
That, more than anything, made her feel that the 
whole thing was reality. And that, with the list of 
probabilities for next summer, was almost a sign that 
college for the year after might be possible. 

For the college fund was growing, week by week. 
But it was curious that their greatest help had been 
people’s absurd contempt for marionettes. Give them 
a good show, and both children and adults, but adults 
particularly, were actually surprised into wild enthu¬ 
siasm. And for weeks Sunny and Kitt hadn’t had a 
thought outside marionettes. Even now—there was 
Joey’s broken hand. 

“Adhesive tape would do,” Kitt remarked, thinking 
aloud. 

“For lunch? Oh, honey!” Sunny’s eyes crinkled 
with amusement. “The taste would be awful!” She 

179 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

edged cautiously around a big truck, slid expertly be¬ 
tween an old lady in a Baby Austin and a rattling farm 
wagon, and pulled up for a traffic light. Ahead of 
them stretched an elm-lined street, cool and shady, 
bordered on one side by a small park, on the other 
by stores. The light changed, Sunny slipped into a 
parking space and stopped the car. “Here’s a drug 
store, Kitt. Hurry up with your tape, I’m starving.” 

“Uh-huh.” Kitt was already out on the sidewalk. 
A moment later she returned with a suggestion. 
“That’s an awfully pretty drug store—white and silver, 
and cool.” She tossed a small parcel in beside the 
sleeping Low Jinks at the back of the car. “Why don’t 
we,” pausing with the door half open, “go in and 
lunch there?” 

Sunny voted that the bright idea of the day and 
jumped out, slamming the door on her side. She 
glanced back at it. “Guess everything’s all right. We’ll 
sit where we can see it. I won’t bother to lock up, 
with Low Jinks inside as watch dog.” 

Kitt’s recent thoughts, with a different twist, must 
also have been passing in Sunny’s mind. Scanning 
the long list of iced temptations on the menu she 
proclaimed a public holiday, decreed a celebration. 
Kitt, only half protesting, was overruled. 

“I may be in college before we get another chance,” 
Sunny continued. “And we still have a five dollar bill 
to see us through the punctures and perils of the road. 
Besides, we’ve just got to.” 

180 


STRANDED 


Both were conscious of their triumphs, that glorious 
feeling which comes but once or twice in a lifetime— 
when you’re doing a job that you love, and know by 
every possible proof that you’re doing it better than 
you ever dreamed you could. They had conquered it 
all now, from balky curtains to stage fright, from meet¬ 
ing new prospects to collecting the check when the 
performance was over. It was amusing that, tem¬ 
porarily, they were broke. Except, of course, for the 
five dollars. 

A waitress, cool and dainty in gray uniform and 
green apron, arrived with the loaded tray. Huge 
three-decker sandwiches, earned with aching arms be¬ 
hind the masking curtain; a giant foaming chocolate 
malted special for Kitt, payment for hands shaking 
with fright as she awkwardly fumbled with Joey’s 
strings; for Sunny a tall frosted glass of iced coffee, 
reward for plugging doggedly through half a per¬ 
formance, extemporizing as she went, because the 
exact words of the show had, for the moment, gone 
clean out of her head. And, to follow all this feast, 
two huge nut chocolate ice creams with marshmal¬ 
lows, a bonus voted unanimously by the directors of 
the successful Kitt-Cat Marionette Company. 

Kitt’s face emerged from the first delicious draught 
of chocolate malted, wreathed in appreciative smiles 
and a circle of froth. “Ouf. ... I needed that. Lis¬ 
ten, Sunny.” She waved an excited spoon. “I think 
. . . well, I’m almost sure there’s something else to 

181 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

celebrate, too.” She stopped for words. Funny, but 
failure seemed easier to face than an anticipated suc¬ 
cess. There was a risk about such daydreams, they 
might dissolve before you could grasp them. 

“That bank account of ours, my share of it I mean— 
if we have luck next summer, too, I’ll really be able to 
get to college after all.” 

“Luck!” Sunny struck a melodramatic pose with 
knife and fork upright on the table. “A Kitt-Cat is 
always lucky! And in college, no reason why . . .” 
and that was a thought, “we shouldn’t have the Kitt- 
Cat Company all the way through, as soon as you 
come to join me. But I do wish,” she paused to regret, 
“we hadn’t put so much money into that new 
Rapunzel act. We’ve still got Dad’s loan to pay 
off and possibly some other bills to take care of. 
We’ve had no time to rehearse Rapunzel and Humpty 
Dumpty. And we certainly shan’t need ’em this 
year. 

“Oh, no, we had to do that,” even the cautious Kitt 
protested. That was all good business. A penny’s 
worth of seed for a dollar’s worth of fruit. And if 
they were to keep those engagements already booked 
for next summer there wouldn’t be time, this winter, 
with Sunny away in college, for them to rehearse new 
acts the way they’d done last spring. Kitt had worked 
at these two, Rapunzel—“Rapunzel, let down your 
hair”—and the Prince, and the old Witch, as well as 


182 


STRANDED 

Humpty Dumpty and Alice, at odd moments all sum¬ 
mer, between shows when Sunny was thinking out 
new lines, before breakfasts and after dinners when 
she was almost too weary to keep her eyes open or see 
the next stitch to be taken. But the two were com¬ 
plete now, packed together in one of the cases in the 

car. 

“But we did put a lot of money into them.” Sunny 
was still remorseful. “How about these people were 
going to to-morrow? The Sweetbriar Camps? Are 

they good for another season?” 

They had finished the gala lunch, and Sunny took 
the check. Then, as Kitt, the pessimist, might have 
feared, fell the first shadow of disaster. Sunny pro¬ 
duced the bill from her pocketbook. A dollar bill. She 
gazed at it blankly, scrabbled desperately in her bag. 
In a small, meek voice she declared, “I could have 
sworn it was a five. Kitt, have you got any change?” 

Kitt had. Beneath the amused eyes of the waitress 
they delved and searched for coins, just covered the 
check and had a quarter and a penny to spare. 

“Whew, that’s awkward! Enough for gas, with 
luck. But nothing for accidents, or for luxuries. Even 

a meal, a bed or a puncture. 

“We’ll sponge on the Sweetbriar Camp then, or ask 

them to take it off our payment.” Once the blow had 
fallen, Kitt never worried. Any one could be brave, 
she felt, when the worst had already happened. 

183 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

When the worst? When—a glance through the 
window. Surely the car—it had been there, right in 
front of the drug store. And now ? 

“Heavens above!” Sunny had made the same dis¬ 
covery. “Kitt! The car is gone!” 


184 


Chapter Nineteen 


RECOVERY 


T he marionettes, their whole show, gone. The car, 
their only way of getting their next meal or night’s 
lodging, gone. But worse than either of these, Low 
Jinks was in that car just disappearing round the cor¬ 
ner of the block. The Kitt-Cat show and the car were 
replaceable. But Low Jinks, never. 

Not that Kitt had time to separate these thoughts 
and various losses. It was all one black incredible 
tragedy. Sunny, though,—why was she dashing back 
into the drug store? The quiet little man who had 
been drinking coffee at a back table shambled forward 
as she asked something of the man at the desk. 

“Your car? Yes, I saw a man get into the big tan 
car and drive away. Shouldn’t have left it unlocked, 
Miss.” He slapped a coin on the counter and swiftly, 
but unhurried, led the way outside toward a motor¬ 
cycle and side car parked at the curb a little way down 
the block. 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 


“Hop in,” he ordered crisply. 

Sunny glanced at Kitt, Kitt at Sunny. 

“Both, if you can make it. You’re light.” He kicked 
the engine into a roar. 

“But what . . . who?” stammered Kitt, wondering 
at his quick taking over of their troubles, but squeez¬ 
ing obediently next to Sunny in the narrow side 
car. 

The shabby little man grinned and flipped back the 
lapel of his wrinkled black coat to show a shining 
metal star. So sheriffs actually did wear such things, 
outside the movies! Then thought, or anyhow speech, 
became impossible. Under its powerful acceleration 
the machine shot forward, pressing Sunny against the 
back of the seat. Kitt endeavored to curl up in the 
front, against Sunny’s thin knees. A momentary 
slackening of gait, for the change of gear, and the 
engine’s drone dropped to a lower note, then rose 
rapidly again. Air was buffeting Kitt’s flushed face, 
roared past her ears, snatching at her hair. 

“To the right. ... I saw him turn down the right!” 
shouted Kitt. The man must have heard. He nodded. 

Round the corner, the horn screaming its siren 
alarm, in one mad, breath-taking swerve. A swift 
gathering of speed again. “There’s only one road; 
we can’t miss him.” Kitt heard, or guessed, the words. 
Then, “Hold tight!” in warning as they hit the open 
spaces of the concrete road and slid, unheeding, past 
the last red traffic light of the town. They bounced, 


186 


RECOVERY 


wabbled desperately, straightened out again and had 
their noses still to the trail. 

A dignified black sedan dropped, with a whoof, 
behind them, a scandalized driver shaking his head 
at them. A casual Ford, cutting across the white line 
at the corner, nearly caused disaster, but somehow they 
missed it. Kitt wondered whether the sheriff took his 
number. And ever the note of the engine rose higher, 
higher. 

What could they be doing now? Forty? Or would 
it be sixty? You couldn’t tell. It seemed more like 
a hundred, so near the ground, so unprotected by 
roof or side windows. More like flying than motor¬ 
ing. 

“We’ll catch him.” Sunny’s head bobbed down 
against Kitt’s ear. “Not even a thief can knock more’n 
fifty out of our old bus.” 

Without taking his eyes from the road ahead, the 
sheriff grinned encouragement. His mouth had 
opened, but his words were torn away by the rush 
of wind. It was glorious, thrilling, this wild race. But 
also it was . . . ouch . . . painful! Sunny, in the pad¬ 
ded seat might be better off, but Kitt, crouching at 
her feet, banged first one side of the small body, then 
the other, as the outfit swung swiftly to the corners. 

Ahead, on the straight road, she could see a car. It 
was hard to identify it, as you jounced and rattled, 
hard to see anything but a blur, through streaming, 
wind reddened eyes. Then . . . yes, that was their 

**7 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

tan car, definitely. And the driver, in answer to the 
motorcycle’s frantic tooting, was slowing down, trying 
to look innocent. The sheriff slackened his pace be¬ 
hind the other. 

“That it?” he asked the girls. 

Both Sunny and Kitt nodded vigorously. The driv¬ 
ing license, and the insurance papers in the side pocket, 
would serve to identify it for them. Besides . . . and 
Kitty thought of it with a pang of unhappiness for 
the little dog . . . there was Low Jinks. Why wasn’t 
he scrabbling at the side windows, barking, with flap¬ 
ping ears, in excitement and fury, as one would have 
expected? Could something have happened to him? 
Could the thief, in order to get away with the car, 
have made away with Jinks? Kitt struggled to thrust 
the thought out of her mind. 

They were alongside, the sheriff showing his badge, 
signing to the man to draw to the edge of the road. 
The car pulled up, the motorcycle crowded in just 
ahead of it. Well, thank heaven, there hadn’t been 
any shooting yet! And the sheriff was at the window, 
talking to the man, motioning for Kitt and Sunny to 
get out of the side car. 

It wasn’t so easy to unfold bruised, cramped legs. 
And now that the chase was over, Kitt, on her feet 
again, felt weak and shaky. The physical excitement 
had been a relief; it was the unpleasantness which 
might follow that she dreaded. Suppose the man had 
a gun. Suppose he refused to allow their claim . . . 




RECOVERY 

Says it’s his own,” the sheriff announced. Then to 
the man, “Well, show your papers!” 

The man’s hand went to the left pocket of the car. 
Kitt noticed the sheriff’s hand stray to his hip, saw 
tnat he swung round so as to keep between them and 
the car. But the car thief had no such desperate idea. 
Every one keeps his papers in the left-hand pocket, 
but these weren’t the correct papers, the ones he ex¬ 
pected. Obviously, as he glanced at them, then looked 
further at the name, Miss Catharine Fairweather, his 
astonishment was genuine. 

A grin of genuine apology spread across his some¬ 
what unpleasant face. “Say . . . sorry! There’s a slip¬ 
up somewhere here.” He passed the papers to the 
waiting sheriff, turned to glance behind him at the 
cases in the car, seemed puzzled. 

“You Miss Fairweather?” The sheriff glanced at 
Kitt, who shook her head, indicating Sunny. 

“Catharine Fairweather,” said Sunny. 

“That’s right. Seventeen. Liskeard. All right. Hop 
in there and drive her back. Ain’t room in there for 
all of us. You . . .” he addressed the man. “I’ll have 
to take you back.” 

But the man was frying to bluster it out. “Look 
here, there’s no need for all this. I’m quite willing to 
pay for any damage I’ve done—say, five dollars. And 
whatever time you’ve wasted—say, another ten. That’ll 
teach me, I guess,” he tried to smile apologetically, 
“to be careful.” 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“Get out'” The sheriff’s tone was curt. A jerk of 
his head indicated the side car of the motorcycle. 
“Follow us back, will you, Miss? 

Sunny nodded. , 

Sullenly the man climbed down and stood in the 

road; he was a shabby man with a flashy diamond ring 
on one soiled hand, a torn tie, a very new cap over 
a long, hard-looking face. 

Sunny took her accustomed place at the wheel. But 
Jinks ... Low Jinks? Where was he? Kitt opened 
the back door and whistled. “Jinks!” she called anx¬ 
iously. “Jin\s!” 

Something stirred on top the piled cases that nearly 
filled the back of the car; a sleek, seal-black head raised 
itself to expose a wide, delicate yawn. Slowly Low 
Jinks got to his feet, the perfect gentleman disturbed 
at his afternoon nap, and ambled leisurely down, wag- 
ging his tail. 

“What a watch dog!” exclaimed Sunny. The man 
scratched a puzzled head. Kitt bent to scoop up her 

darling and climbed into the car. 

On the way back, following closely behind the mo¬ 
torcycle, Kitt and Sunny discussed the recent affair. 
It hardly seemed possible that the man could have 
taken their car by mistake; new cars can, of course, 
be identical if of the same make and type; but with 
every dent and scratch, every additional repair, cars 
of the same model and year grow utterly distinct. 
Even the feel you get in driving one becomes charac- 

190 



The perfect gentleman, disturbed at his afternoon nap! 














































































































































RECOVERY 


teristic of that car, and of no other. Why, the man 
couldn’t have driven ten feet without recognizing that 
it wasn’t his own. Could he perhaps have mistaken it 
for some one else’s ? And if it were really an innocent 
mistake, why had he been willing to pay out fifteen 
dollars rather than return and make, or prove, a simple 
explanation ? But if he weren’t innocent, and it began 
to look as if he were not, why on earth should he steal 
an old ark like this, with a load of things that would 
certainly have no market value, and one not-so-very- 
valuable dachshund? 

Still puzzled, they reached the police station. They 
gave their statements to the officer at the desk, an¬ 
swered a number of questions, were asked to read over 
what had been taken down, and to sign it. The man, 
however, still protesting his innocence, refused to 
make any statement, and put in two telephone calls, 
one for a bail bond, the other for a lawyer. 

“You’d better stick around, you two,” the sheriff 
told the girls. “Case’ll be up to-morrow before the 
magistrate. If ’twas an ordinary motor offense now, 
we’d a’ had it weighed off to-day. But there’s more 
to this. . . .” 

“But we must get on! We’ve simply got to get on!” 
Sunny was horrified. “We’ve spent our last dollar, we 
haven’t enough with us to pay for even a night’s lodg¬ 
ing, and we’ve an engagement to play at the Sweet- 
briar Camps to-morrow. That’s about twenty-five 
miles beyond here. It isn’t our fault he took the car.” 


J 93 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

“And we haven’t made any charges against him, 
Kitt remembered to say. 

“Play?” The sheriff had grasped the one word that 
interested him. “What kind of a play ? You don t 

look like theater folks.” 

Kitt explained. “Marionettes.” 

“Mary-and-ettes?” The word obviously meant noth¬ 
ing to him. Kitt dashed out to the car. She must 
somehow impress the sheriff and the police with the 
seriousness of the Kitt-Cat show. An instant later 
she was back with George, not Jinks s George, but the 
new Washington of the flag-making scene, beneath 
her arm. The other puppets might have been too friv¬ 
olous, but surely the Father of his Country would 
prove sufficiently impressive. She unwound his strings, 
tested the control, thrust it into Sunny’s hand. 

Sunny, hopping on a chair, went into the flag-mak¬ 
ing bit. 

“This then, Mistress Betsy, shall be the banner of 
our new nation. Proudly, before all the countries shall 
it wave, o’er the Land of the Free and the Home of 
the Brave, a symbol of our new liberty and independ¬ 
ence.” 

With a noble flourish of one small hand, George 
ended his speech. The car thief scratched his head. 
The sheriff cleared his throat in a puzzled fashion. 

“Oh ... oh! Dollies, eh?” was what he said. 


194 


Chapter Twenty 


MISSING MARIONETTES 


W ell, that was that. The man had been given 
bail and the police wanted to hold the case 
over until they could have a chance to prove some of 
their dark suspicions. Sunny and Kitt, having left 
their own and their parents’ names and addresses, 
were still violently discussing the case as the big 
shabby tan car carried them out of the town. 

This man, what did the police think he really was ? 
It had been an awfully easy theft, of course. Sunny 
bitterly blamed herself for having been so stupid as 

to leave the key in the switch. 

“But why on earth he should take our battered bus 
among all those others!” she worried. “It’s not a car 
I’d choose, if I were an up-and-coming car thief.” 

“He didn’t exactly look like an amateur,” admitted 
Kitt. “But maybe he really was telling the truth, that 
he mistook it for another one. There actually was an- 

*95 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

other, same make and rather like ours, parked down 
the block. I wonder why . . She paused, as though 
struck by an idea. 

“Wonder why what?” They passed the last traffic 
light, swung out onto the concrete with a speed de¬ 
signed to make up part of the time lost at the police 
station. 

“Oh, only if . . .” Kitt pondered slowly. “If it was 
the truth, what he said, that there actually was an¬ 
other car, and I have a hunch that’s true, why did he 
have to get bail? Why didn’t he simply produce the 
other car? That would have proved his argument 
beyond any question. There’s something strange about 
that.” 

With the problem still unsolved they passed the 
place where the arrest had been made. An engagement 
before them, probably the final show of the season, 
they lost interest in such past events as were unre¬ 
lated to the marionette business and swung back to 
the usual discussion of the last performance, a form 
of conversation so prevalent in this combination of 
the Newcomb-Fair weather families that there were 
audible sighs of relief from both households, once Kitt 
and Sunny were ready to depart for another engage¬ 
ment. Mr. Fairweather had been heard to mutter in 
a moment of temporary rebellion against his role of 
financial advisor, that he ate, talked, and even sat upon 
puppets in every room in the house, and even big 
brother Bill, for all his interest and help in the mario- 

196 


MISSING MARIONETTES 

nette theater, had once thrown up his hands and 
begged, “For Pete’s sake, Kitt, lay off it! I can’t pass 
a toy shop window nowadays without feeling faint!” 

But it was interesting. It really was. Even the same 
program turned out differently each time you gave it. 
Partly because, on these one-night stands, your hall, 
your audience and everything else differed from those 
of every other performance, and some marionettes 
were as temperamental as opera stars. It wasn’t just 
stage fright that dried your mouth, made your fingers 
shake so that the strings tangled and you could yelp 
and bite the masking curtain with exasperation. Bar¬ 
nacle Bill had a trick, for instance, of going limp, half¬ 
seas over. It might be in character, but it was most 
disconcerting when his head suddenly dropped back, 
flabby and uncontrolled; and there were times when 
Joey, the clown, distinctly overacted. One night dur¬ 
ing a performance his head had come entirely loose 
from his body. Kitt had drawn a quick curtain and 
attached the head with a few swift, strong stitches. 
On his reappearance Joey had squeaked, “Well, folks, 
that was one time I just lost my head!” 

And human contacts were part of the fun. There 
were people who made such long-winded introduc¬ 
tions that you had to cut part of the show to get it 
through in time; people who glibly promised their 
audience such marvels as no performance could ful¬ 
fill; people who didn’t know a thing about mario¬ 
nettes— an( J they always made speeches. Then there 


J 97 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

were the ones who insisted on hanging around behind 
the scenes, who “wanted to see the little actors work,” 
who wanted to help. Some, of course, were honestly 
useful, like that girl, Geraldine Something-or-other, at 
the last place. 

“Was she any good?” asked Sunny. 

Kitt nodded. “Quite good. She’d made marionettes. 
Her stringing was different from ours. I showed her 
Barnacle Bill and then Rapunzel and let her try them 
out. She had good hands for the work, strong and 
big.” 

“That must have been when I was collecting the 
check. You got everything in the car all right?” 

Kitt nodded again, absently viewing her tangled 
hair in her pocket mirror. “Goodness, we’d better 
stop somewhere and clean up before we get out to 
Sweetbriar. After that ride in the side car I look more 
like the wild woman of the circus than a respectable 
business woman.” 

Sweetbriar Camp, totem pole, cypress, log cabin 
gatehouse and all swung into view. And none too 
soon. The gas tank registered zero, purses and stom¬ 
achs nearly the same. The place seemed unusually 
busy. Instead of a couple of cars, the camp director’s 
and one of his counselor’s, the parking space was filled 
with gleaming sedans, huge, antique touring cars and 
even two station wagons. 

“Can I squeeze the bus in there, Kitt ? Hop out and 
see if I’m likely to scratch that big green dragon. 

198 


MISSING MARIONETTES 

Looks like the crowd at a county fair, doesn’t it? Won¬ 
der what’s up?” 

Kitt shoved on ahead to the office, to Mr. Pensilva 
whom she already knew slightly. Diffidently she be¬ 
gan to explain the reason of their unheralded and 
premature arrival and was somewhat astonished when 
the plump, pleasant little camp manager leaped from 
his chair and rushed to the door. 

“Both? Both? Both? And the marionettes?” he 

barked. 

“Oh, yes, we’re both here.” Kitt followed him to 
the veranda and indicated the car. 

“Young woman, you’re heaven-sent. If I had 
thought I could have got you to-day by phone, I d 
have sent for you. You’ll want food, of course. And 
a cabin, right away. Even if we have to throw some¬ 
body out.” And at Kitt’s blank stare, he explained, 
“We’ve got a hundred and fifty counselors and heads 
of camps here, for the conference. Other camps are 
closed, as you know. We stay open a bit later. We’ve 
fed ’em and talked to ’em and said everything there 
has to be said. But they’re not leaving till to-morrow 
morning, and there’s still to-night, and they’ve got to 
be amused.” He was hurrying so, toward the car, that 

Kitt had to trot to keep up with him. 

Mr. Pensilva himself helped to unload the car and 
to carry the cases to one end of the long dining hall, 
where the stage would be set up. Having thus made 
sure that they would be on hand, he showed them 


1 99 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 
their individual cottage and was forced to rush away 
to other affairs. 

A long youth with an Adam’s apple gangled up, 
announced that he was “Hank,” and laid hold of the 
cases. Who Hank was, whether handyman, counselor 
or otherwise, they never discovered. His trick was to 
stand off, measure objects with his eye and speculate 
on whether they fitted, then silently fit them together. 
Obviously, he knew nothing of marionette work, and, 
equally obviously, that worried him not at all; but in 
the rush and bustle of this emergency performance 
the Kitt-Cats found him a rock on which they could 
lean with amazing surety. 

“No, that’s the masking curtain. It goes on the rods 
there.” Kitt threw him a direction over her shoulder 
as she screwed the fragile footlights into their sockets. 

This engagement was a gorgeous piece of luck, 
wonderful mostly for the future prospects it might 
develop for other camps, but for the moment Kitt s 
gratitude was for the crisp crinkly dollar bills it would 
bring in. So much of the summer’s work could be 
measured in prospects, in what you might call good 
will, and the actual takings. They had, of course, a 
real bank account now, but even that, with debts re¬ 
paid and expenses taken out, wouldn’t go far towards 
college tuition, not if you cut it in two, one half for 
Sunny, one half for Kitt. And college . . . 

“All up? That’s fine.” Kitt broke her thoughts to 
give further suggestions. Sunny was busy with the 


200 


MISSING MARIONETTES 

gramaphone, sorting out the records in order of their 
use in the various acts. Kitt herself would attend to 
the puppets. “The empty cases will go back there, in 
a moment. Where’s the nearest floor plug, for the 
lights?” 

Hank found it and plugged in. Kitt tested flood 
lights, footlights and baby spot, still thinking. To¬ 
night’s show must be the best they had ever given, 
since it was certainly the most important. If only the 
Rapunzel and Humpty Dumpty acts had been ready! 
So much time and effort had gone into those, for 
next year’s program; to-day could have been a sort 
of preview, announced exclusively for these camp 
people, of what they could hire for next summer. 

“Put those boxes,” she glanced up, “behind the cur¬ 
tain now. I’ll unpack them in a minute.” Lights 
right. Music right. Stage up. That left marionettes, 
prompt scripts to set up, though actually they never 
needed those any more, props to get out. Sunny, as 
property man, could deal with those. 

A woman in an apron, with two suppers on a long 
tray, appeared in the darkening doorway. Bless Mr. 
Pensilva for his thoughtfulness! He was sure, the 
woman said, that the girls would prefer not to have 
to appear at the long and tiresome dinner where every 
one would be making speeches, but could have a quick 
meal on a tray and a rest of an hour or more before 
the performance. 

Followed by gratitude, Hank melted tactfully 


201 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

through the doorway and they were left alone in the 
big echoing hall. Sunny finished sorting the props, 
shoved in her hairpins, surveyed her dusty hands with 
a little grimace of distaste, rubbed them on her soiled 
smock and sank into a chair. Kitt surveyed the tray. 
Hot soup, cold salad, a pile of sandwiches. But even 
when contemplating food, her mind was not entirely 
free of the job. 

Idly, a sandwich in her fingers, her eyes roamed 
across the stage, checking, counting, sorting mentally. 
Those two cases of marionettes . . . she bit into the 
sandwich . . . there should be three more, shouldn t 
there ? Oh, yes, there was another . . . 

With a little squeal of dismay she leaped to her feet. 
“Sunny! We took everything out of the car, didnt 
we? . . . Did we? . . . Because two cases of mario¬ 
nettes are missing!” 

Hastily they verified the count. It was, alas, true! 
When Geraldine What’s-her-name had helped Kitt 
pack, back in the last Cedarbrook Camp, two cases, 
almost half their actors for to-night’s performance, 
had been left behind. 


202 


Chapter Twenty-One 


GOOD NEWS 


T here was a moment’s horrified silence. Two cases 
gone? But they couldn’t be, they simply must be 
somewhere about! Kitt was certain that the car had 
been completely unloaded; still, those missing cases 
might have been put down somewhere beside it, or left 
halfway between car and hall. She hurried out. 

A few minutes later, hot and flushed, she was back. 
Sunny had only to see her face to know the bad news. 

“We couldn’t have lost them!” wailed Kitt, bewil¬ 
dered. “We simply couldn’t!” 

Sunny, head in hands, was trying to think. When 
had they used those cases last? Well, in yesterday’s 
Cedarbrook Camp, of course, for they’d given the 
entire revue there. But since then? Do you suppose 
that car thief could possibly have stolen em? A mad 
idea, but any idea was worth following at this mo¬ 
ment. 

Kitt’s headshake was emphatic. “No. You remem- 


205 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

ber he was really surprised when he saw the mario¬ 
nettes. Besides, he didn’t have time to throw anything 
out of the car, and he hadn’t even disturbed Jinks, 
in the back.” 

Jinks, at his name, pricked ears and gazed, bright 
eyed, from the cushion of his battered George. Kitt 
was recounting the cases for the tenth time. ‘ Three 
. . . six . . . seven . . . eight. Oh, Sunny! . . She 
sank limply to the floor, as though her legs would no 
longer support her. “I know what happened. All 
summer I’ve been counting eight cases. But this trip 
we had two extra: the cases with the Humpty Dumpty 
and Rapunzel acts. So when I counted them the last 
time, in Cedarbrook Camp . . . you remember, you 
were off seeing about that check . . . why I counted 
the usual number. And Geraldine was helping me, 
so I never noticed any had been left out.” 

Kitt had discovered it, of course. What were they 
to do about it? Kitt said there wasn’t anything to do 
about it. She’d go out and confess the worst to Mr. 
Pensilva, who had relied so much on their help this 
evening. But they couldn’t give a performance until 
the missing cases of marionettes were recovered. To¬ 
morrow would be all right, a sixty-mile drive back to 
the last camp . . . with, of course, an advance loan 
from Mr. Pensilva to pay for gas and food on the way. 

Sunny suddenly interrupted. “What’s missing?” 

“What ? . . .” Stopped in mid-argument Kitt looked 
blank. 


204 


GOOD NEWS 

“Which puppets?” Sunny’s voice was impatient. 

“Oh. Why, there’s little Red Riding Hood, her 
grandmother and the Wolf. Sojo. And, of course, 
Joey. He would be missing,” she commented bitterly. 
Joey was consistently the most temperamental of the 
troupe. “That breaks up three acts and the introducer.” 

Sunny, on her feet, was pacing up and down. “We 
could use any of the others almost for introducer. The 
bear for instance. Might be rather a good idea. What 
kind of a voice, I wonder? . . . ‘Ladies and Gentle¬ 
men’ ...” A furry sort of voice, choked, Winnie-the- 
Poohish. Sunny experimented several times with the 
sort of voice a stuffed bear might have. Kitt moved 
impatiently. 

“Perhaps. But the other acts? . . .” 

“Put on your new ones. Rapunzel and Humpty 
Dumpty,” was Sunny’s astounding idea, which, 
queerly, seemed to echo Kitt’s own unexpressed wish 
of a half hour back: “Wouldn’t it be nice if one could 
show the Rapunzel, give these camp heads an idea, 
a preview of next summer’s program?” But no. Im¬ 
possible. Absolutely. 

“Humphy Dumpty, we . . . el . . .” she admitted 
slowly, and picking up a sandwich from the tray be¬ 
side her bit into it mechanically. “Sunny, I’m starving. 
—But the Rapunzel. ... I don’t really know it. It’s 
so long and complicated. All those scenes.” 

Sunny paused in her stride, and with arms akimbo 
gazed down masterfully at the seated Kitt. Of course 


205 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Kitt knew it. Why she had been plugging away at it 
for weeks and weeks. “Come on.” Sunny waved a 
forceful arm. “We’ll have a rehearsal. Two of ’em, 
three, ... or twenty. From now until the perform¬ 
ance. Kitt, you’ve got to.” And as Kitt still seemed 
unconvinced, Sunny added, “We can’t let them down. 
This is the most important evening of our whole 
career.” 

Kitt gazed open mouthed as the determined Sunny 
began to sweep marionettes into her arm, gathered up 
the Rapunzel back drop, and props and started for 
the door. “There’s an empty cottage over there.” 
Sunny paused in the doorway. “Looks like an arts 
and crafts room, or something. Hurry up. We can 
use that for rehearsal.” 

Dragged forward on the wave of her partner’s en¬ 
thusiasm but with all her inherent pessimism clam¬ 
oring for outlet, Kitt followed reluctantly. At the 
entrance to the room she glanced back. There was the 
supper tray, almost untouched, on the table. Her arms 
were full. No matter. One sandwich in her mouth, 
retriever fashion, the remainder in the pocket of her 
smock, marionettes beneath either arm, gingerly hold¬ 
ing a glass of milk in each hand, she bumped through 
the screen door behind Sunny. 

Then began an hour of such tumultuous rush as not 
even the Kitt-Cats, with all their various stormy vicis¬ 
situdes, had hitherto encountered. The empty arts and 


206 


GOOD NEWS 

crafts room, hot and dusty, echoed to Kitt’s changing 
intonations as she perched on a bench, controls in 
hand, and went over and over the lines of her charac¬ 
ters. Over and over and over. Across the short space 
to the dining hall, lights flashed on, a gong urged 
diners to the late meal, where crowds of laughing, 
chattering campers and camp officials swarmed 
through the doors; silver clattered on plates, screen 
doors slapped softly as waiters sped in and out with 
trays of appetizing food. But still the rehearsal did 
not stop. 

Sunny, prompting from a sheaf of typescript, gave 
Kitt her cues, held out and received in turn the vari¬ 
ous puppets as they were wanted or had played their 
parts. Fortunately the show was not entirely new to 
her, but to-night the player must be letter perfect, and 
Kitt was closer to that standard than was Sunny. 

Humpty Dumpty, a short act, was simple. They 
raced through it once, Sunny memorizing the lines 
as she went along, then again more slowly, to be sure 
of the business, and with a sigh of relief, laid it aside 
knowing that it, at least, was certain. Kitt bit absently 
into her third sandwich and clambered back onto the 
bench with Rapunzel in her hands. Sunny set out the 
tiny spinning wheel, and the Princess went into a 
long monologue of lamentation over her sorry lot, 
alone in the tower and at the mercy of the cruel witch. 

For the entrance of the witch, Sunny must take over 
the control stick of the Princess, since it was now the 


207 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

witch’s part to move about, Rapunzel s to remain still. 
This necessitated considerable changing on the bridge, 
crossing back and forth, never an easy task. But they 
had done this a few times before and to-night they d 
simply have to make the best of it. 

Somehow, between speeches and gulps, the supper 
was over, though neither was conscious of what she 
ate. Kitt glanced down once at the milk glass in her 
hand and was vaguely surprised to find it empty. She 
set it down without being aware that she was no longer 
so ravenously hungry. For the fourth time they were 
starting the show when an interruption occurred. 
Some one knocked at the door; the light was switched 
on. Kitt blinked. It had been dark then, or almost so. 

Sunny was wearily shoving in hairpins with hot, 
sticky hands. 

“Thought as how you might be here.” It was the 
drawling voice of Hank. “ ’S one o’ you ladies Mis’ 
Fairweather? You? Well, they’s two Misters . . 

Behind him pleasant, familiar tones interrupted, 
“Catharine! Kitt!” and “Hey, you two!” 

Kitt saw the red head of Peter French flaunting 
through the dusk, watched with dazed amazement as 
Sunny flung herself into her father’s arms. 

“Dad! How perfectly grand of you! And you’ll 
both be here in time to christen the new perform¬ 
ance!” 

“Oh, I suppose so!” he groaned in mock resigna¬ 
tion. He had come, it seemed, from Liskeard in an- 


208 


GOOD NEWS 

swer to the sheriff’s ’phone call about the car thief. 
Peter French, passing the house in his car, had offered 
a lift. “I imagine he hasn’t seen as many marionettes 
as I have.” But Mr. Fairweather seemed to approve 
of the manner in which the girls had handled a dif¬ 
ficult situation, and had further news of the car 
thief. 

“Dad, you’ve just got to sit down and be audience.” 
Sunny plumped him firmly into a chair, waved Peter 
to another. “We’ve got only forty minutes more and 
we want to go through this thing again. Awfully im¬ 
portant . . .” Between gasps of explanation she 
swung back to the marionettes. A nod over her 
shoulder at Kitt. “Straight through it, from the be¬ 
ginning?” 

It seemed to Kitt that it wasn’t humanly possible 
for her to go through with it again. But a sort of sec¬ 
ond courage, born of the lights which Hank had 
switched on, of red-headed Peter’s presence, of the 
desire to earn Mr. Fairweather’s approval and, most 
of all, of that feeling which theater folk develop, of ral¬ 
lying all one’s best when it is needed for an audience, 
came to her rescue. Peter and Mr. Fairweather lis¬ 
tened with genuine attention. Hank lounged in the 
background, uttering amused chuckles. It was crude 
of course, no footlights, no back drop; controls and 
strings in full view; no illusions. But it went smoothly; 
it got over. 

Once they were stopped by a suggestion. “I think 


209 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

the witch’s laugh should be more like this: Heh . . . 
heh . . . heh!’” Mr. Fairweather gave a chuckling 

sneer. 

“Grand!” nodded Sunny. “Try it, Kitt.” 

Kitt tried. And failed and tried again. Yes, that 
was better; it marked the old woman more clearly 
from the Princess. “ ‘Heh . . . heh . . . heh, you 
wicked girl! You haven’t finished your spinning for 
the day. I shall return in half an hour. Rapunzel, 
Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair. Heh . . . 
heh . . . heh!’” 

A spatter of applause from the three-man-power 
audience. Kitt slumped breathlessly onto her bench, 
triumphantly conscious that she had gone through this 

time without missing a cue. 

“Very good, indeed. But how long have you two 
youngsters been at this? You look pretty fagged. 

“Dinner’s over,” laconically volunteered young 
Hank. “They’ll be wantin’ you soon, I guess.” And, 
murmuring that he’d go and see, he drifted toward 
the dining hall. 

From Sunny’s limp fingers dangled the witch. 
“What’s the news, Dad?” 

It would, he thought, keep until after the perform¬ 
ance, but he could give them a bit of encouragement. 
Just a few days ago he had been talking to Mr. New¬ 
comb about the Kitt-Cats and their summer’s work. 
Kitt’s father had then drawn his attention to a point 
he had not hitherto considered. 


210 


/ 


GOOD NEWS 

Mr. Fairweather paused provocatively, but Sunny 
merely stifled a yawn of weariness. 

Look here, you girls are dead tired. Do you have 
to go on?” 

“Got to. But if you’ve any good news, Dad, be a 
sport and cheer us up.” 

Well, Dad’s point was that the girls hadn’t cost 
their families anything for bed, board and amusements 
for more than half the summer. So it seemed only 
fair that some proportion of what each had saved 
her household should be paid into the account of Kitt- 
Cat and Company. For traveling expenses, for per¬ 
sonal use, for further marionettes; even for that col¬ 
lege fund of Kitt’s; whatever they wished. “We 
thought about fifty each,” he said. “And more¬ 
over . . .” 

Hank had drifted back. “Kin you be ready in 
twenty minutes?” he queried doubtfully. 

Could they ? With the crust of a vanished sandwich 
in her fingers Kitt began to scramble up props and 
puppets. Had she thought she was tired? Nonsense! 
Fifty dollars, fifty crisp crackling one dollar bills 
nearer to college. . . . Glorious! She popped the last 
crumbs of sandwich into her mouth, rolled it about 
on her tongue. 

What was that familiar flavor? Shades of the Adi¬ 
rondack Camp! She had eaten straight through six 
salmon sandwiches and never noticed it at all! 


211 


Chapter Twenty-Two 


SUCCESS 


H ank, Peter, and Mr. Fairweather, with armfuls 
of marionettes, followed the girls into the big 
hall. Kitt, hanging the puppets ready for their en¬ 
trance, thought with bitter envy of those scores and 
scores of people gathering out front who didn’t have to 
do a thing, remember a thing, who could just sit still 
all evening and enjoy themselves. She’d think of that 
next time she went to the theater, and throw a crumb 
of pity to the other side of the footlights. 

Her icy fingers touched the pile of back drop cur¬ 
tains to be sure they were close at hand, ready to 
switch into place. Then she gave the curtain cord a 
little tug, to be certain it would glide open freely when 
needed. And consciously she swallowed for the tenth 
time. Always there was that nightmare feeling, just be¬ 
fore the rise of the curtain, that her voice might for¬ 
sake her just when she needed it. It never had, of 
course. But the wretched fear still persisted. 


212 


SUCCESS 


With one eye to a narrow slit in the big front 
curtain. Sunny was reporting on the house: “Biggest 
one we’ve ever had, Kitt. And all so ... o important 
looking. Oh, here comes another group in evening 
dress. My dear, I feel like a prima donna in grand 
opera.” 

“Uh-huh,” murmured Kitt, soundlessly rehearsing 
Rapunzel’s first speech, but with her mind a long way 
off. The whole day, the entire afternoon, had been 
such a whirl of events, and now Peter was here, and 
there was this exciting addition to the college fund. 
Oh, dear. If she could have only half an hour alone, 
or fifteen, ten minutes, in which to think about this, 
in which to digest the glorious news. . . . Violently 
she brought her mind back to the present scene. House 
lights were dimmed, footlights went on, and out in 
front the buzz of conversation had sunk to a murmur 
of interest. Sunny’s eyes were on her. 

“Ready?” formed Sunny’s lips. 

The audience was theirs from the start. Here was 
no small-boy audience challenging the marionettes to 
amuse it, no group of bored young girls more in¬ 
terested in the dance that might follow than in the 
entertainment provided for them. Maybe camp direc¬ 
tors and officials knew, from another angle, the dif¬ 
ficulty of amusing people, and met one more than half 
way. There was a ripple of applause as the bear 
finished Joey’s usual speech. Good, that was going all 
right. Now, all the others on stage. 


213 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

Mechanically Kitt’s lips and fingers followed the 
usual routine. Fifty dollars ... in addition to what 
they had made this summer ? That was how far toward 
the tuition of the first quarter? There’d be books and 
extras . . . 

Sunny’s sharp elbow nudged her. The announcer 
bear’s voice, on stage, cried, “Hey, hey, this isn’t your 
turn! You’ve been on once already!” 

Kitt switched the Persian dancer back to his place 
on the hanger, brought out G. Washington, whose turn 
it was to appear. My that was a close call! Mustn’t 
happen again. Smart of Sunny to remind her through 
the bear, and the audience delightedly took it all as 
part of the performance. 

The first half of the show was over. Humpty 
Dumpty was soon to make his premiere. Kitt was sure 
that the audience must feel the increased tension when 
they were swept from the old into the new acts. But, 
amazingly, the new material was even better. Despite 
the tenseness of forced rehearsals, characters still had 
a pleasant freshness; Kitt was obliged to throw herself 
more fully into the part of the poor little Princess 
Rapunzel waiting forlornly in her high tower, to 
forget fifty dollars, college fund, Peter French, car 
thief and missing cases, all in the character of the 
sneering, revengeful Heh . . . heh . . . heh! of the 
wicked old witch. 

There was a glance of triumph and congratulation 
from Sunny as Kitt, without a falter, finished her long 


SUCCESS 


speech in the second act; that speech through which 
she had stumbled a half dozen times this same after¬ 
noon. It didn’t need the crash of applause out front 
for them to know it had registered, that Rapunzel was 
a success. Still the applause was sweet. 

“Rapunzel, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair.” 
The Prince mounted on the golden silken ladder to 
the high tower and the little old fairy tale progressed 
to a finish. The marionettes were marshaled on stage 
to receive their curtain calls. Footlights went down, 
house lights on. For the final time, came a burst of 
enthusiastic applause. 

Once again Kitt and Sunny felt that gratitude and 
applause had grossly overpaid them, felt that aching 
need to appear out front and say something, do some¬ 
thing to balance their account, even that ridiculous 
feeling that they might give the show all over again 
in repayment. But white faced and weary, they could 
only smile, and smile uncertainly, and receive the con¬ 
gratulations that came their way. 

“You go along and rest, Kitt. I’ll tend to the crowd,” 
whispered Sunny, as always. Kitt nodded agreement, 
but she didn’t want to rest. Not yet. She wanted to 
find Mr. Fairweather and Peter, hear more about 
that exciting news of his, and . . . what else was it 
he had to tell them ? 

Sunny was already engulfed. A delighted gentle¬ 
man in evening dress wanted to make the bear walk, 
ladies in summery gowns begged to hold and handle 


21 5 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

the golden haired Princess. Sunny shot a glance, half 
despairing, above the group, but shook her head at 
Kitt. No, she didn’t need help. 

Mr. Fairweather was as enthusiastic as the others, 
which, considering how stale the show must be for 
him, was a great tribute. Peter French hovered tact¬ 
fully in the background, but Sunny’s father wanted 
especially to have a talk with the girls, though Sunny, 
as Kitt explained to him, would be busy for at least 
another half hour. One could see her tousled halo, 
getting curlier and wilder every minute, as she reached 
up to shove in a hairpin, and bobbing above the wave 
of directors, campers, officials and visitors that surged 
around the steps of the stage. 

Watch in hand, for, as he explained, Peter had 
volunteered to drive him home to-night, Mr. Fair- 
weather drew Kitt away from the babel of voices. 
When they had time, later on, he said, he’d like to lay 
before Kitt-Cat and Company his financial report for 
the season. But perhaps they’d like to know the 
high spots of it now, on this closing night of their 
theatrical season. He launched into a brief summary 
for Kitt’s attentive ear. 

“Think you can remember that?” he concluded. 

Remember it! Golly, who couldn’t? Kitt found it 
difficult to give Sunny’s father a decorous farewell, not 
just throw her arms around his neck and hug him. 

“See you soon again,” said Peter, grinning below his 
carroty topknot. “Gosh, I’m glad you’re not moving 


216 



Kitt swung round on her heels, swooping Sunny with her. 







































































































































































SUCCESS 


off to college this fall. I’ve got a year in Liskeard High, 
remember. I’ll need a good sponsor there.” And they 
were gone. 

Kitt danced back to the platform, hoping that Sunny 
would soon be free, but the crowd seemed thicker than 
ever. Usually Kitt herself would be busy at this hour, 
packing up for the end of their one-night stand; but, 
with the repeat performance booked for to-morrow, 
there wasn’t anything to keep her occupied. Per¬ 
haps if she also took a marionette to display she could 
help sweep away this mob. 

Twenty minutes later the last teacher and camper 
melted reluctantly into the night. Mr. Pensilva had 
repeated his extreme appreciation of their work, and 
it was all over. Kitt kept a hold on herself until the 
screen door slammed behind him, then self-restraint 
could do no more. 

“Yoops!” was the remark she uttered. And Sunny’s 
reply, which sounded like " Eeeepl” was equally en¬ 
lightening. Marionettes and control were cast aside. 
Kitt grabbed the astonished Sunny about the waist and 
swung her down the hall in a wild burst of glee. 
Chairs folded up, settees went galley-west as they 
passed; the last need for professional decorum had 
gone. One could be one’s age. And there was news, 
news, Jerusalem, what news to impart! 

“Sunny, old thing, we’re coming into riches . . . 
riches . . . riches!” sang Kitt, whirling the not un- 


STRINGS TO ADVENTURE 

willing Sunny about like one of her own marionettes. 

“I know . . . Kitt ... I know!” Sunny was at first 
too intent on her own news to listen. “Six new book¬ 
ings, entirely new, all out of to-night’s work. And 
those on top of—” 

“No, but listen Sunny. This is real. This is velvet. 
We haven’t had to work for this.” 

Who had let Low Jinks into the hall? Anyway he 
was there, racing at their heels, ears frantically flop¬ 
ping, mouth wide with a delighted grin. 

“The sheriff . . . whoops, was that a chair? . . . 
told your father that there was a three hundred re¬ 
ward for the capture of the car thief. And that he’ll 
split it three ways with us.” Kitt swung round on her 
heels, swooping Sunny with her; Jinks did too flat 
a turn on the polished floor, scrabbled with his toe¬ 
nails and came a cropper, but was up again, barking 
wildly. 

“Shush, Jinks! Shush, I say. Make him be still, 
Kitt. What was that? The car thief. Led go . . .” 
laughing, “you’re hurding be!” 

Kitt came to a halt and collapsed in a chair, arms 
dangling limply. “Oh, it’s just that we got hold,” gasp¬ 
ing for breath, “of one end of a gang of silk thieves. 
They stored ... oh ... oh, I’m out of breath! 
. . . stored the silk in a car there, near where we parked 
ours, and another member of the gang picked it up 
each week. That’s why there was a reward out.” 

Sunny, unsteadily on the seat of a chair, was ex- 


220 


SUCCESS 


ecuting a pas seul. “Fifty for not being home. A 
hundred for the car thief. More in the bank. What 
a show we’ll have next year, Kitt!” And a possible sale 
for Rapunzel, props and all. . . .” 

“What? . . ” 

“Yes, indeedy. And with the dates we’ve got for 
next summer . . .” 

“The best day’s work,” beamed Kitt, “we ever did 
in our lives.” 

“Day’s?” queried Sunny, and shook her head. 

No, indeed, not “day’s work.” Why, Kitt had been 
working at marionettes since she was twelve, and this 
summer they’d given all of their vacation to the job and 
all their spare time for months before. . . . 

But Kitt refused to be disenchanted. It was good luck, 
and lots of it; sheer enchantment to-day had been. 
Magic. Riches simply handed them on a platter. To 
be true magic, of course, it should come in threes. . . . 

“Saay . . .” drawled Hank’s gangling voice from the 
doorway. “It’s most bedtime, ain’t it? Did that there 
li’l dawg get any supper? Maybe he’ll eat this.” In 
his hand he bore a well filled plate. Jinks, wooflng 
a thank-you, set upon it. 

“There,” said Kitt. “What’d I tell you? The third 
blessing for to-day. And ... on a platter!” 


221 







































































































































































































































































































































































































































































































